Last Chance
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: Dick is ready to date again after Babs returns his ring. Will his double life destroy his Last Chance at finding happiness beyond the mask? The road to heaven must travel first through hell. AU Introducing OC, Arabella "Elle" Hamilton. Humor. T for language, violence, talk of death, and suggestive material/innuendo. Appearances by Alfred P, Barbara G., Wally W., Clark K./Superman.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

"It's official, dude," Wally glanced over towards the driver. "You've turned into Batman."

The statement yanked Dick out of his thoughts and back into the present. He glanced away from the road long enough to send a questioning look at his best friend and passenger, Wally West.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Wally slurped his 44 oz. soda. "It means that you're brooding . . . Again."

Again? Dick sighed. He couldn't help it. Ever since he and Babs had broken up this last time, he just couldn't seem to shake the funk that had come over him. Always, there had been something holding them back, keeping their relationship from progressing onward. The last argument had been an ongoing one they had had throughout their stormy, on again/off again relationship: his constant need to seek Bruce's or Batman's approval.

"Sorry, Wally. I know what with all the changes in our lives we don't get the opportunity to just hang out together like we used to, and now I'm ruining it."

Wally turned concerned eyes toward his companion. There was a line creasing Dick's brow that hadn't been there the last time he had seen him. "I wouldn't go so far as to say you're ruining it, but you do seem to be down this time. What's up?"

"It's nothing, really. I promise to do better," he said, reaching over and turning on the radio. Music poured out of the speakers, loud enough to prevent easy conversation.

Wally reached over and turned it off.

_Damn it!_ He sighed. He and Wally didn't get to see each other often enough, and Dick didn't want to screw up their time together up by talking about his problems.

"Dick, come on. It's me, here." Wally turned in his seat as far as his seat belt would allow. "We've always been able to talk about anything."

"It's . . . It's nothing."

"Spill it, wonder hunk," Wally teased.

"Don't call me that!" Dick snapped.

Wally blinked. It was an ongoing joke between them. Girls seemed to adore Dick and his alter ego, Robin; especially since he had gone through puberty. Wally had often teased his friend that it was those hot pants he used to wear with his Robin costume that made the girls swoon every time he swooped in to save them. Although, as Nightwing, he still managed to find more than his fair share of swooning damsels.

"Ah, woman troubles, eh?"

Dick's lips whitened as his mouth tightened. "Babs troubles."

"Wait, what? Did you two got back together again?" Wally knew that the couple had split up eight months ago. This last time had been particularly hard as Barbara had returned Dick's ring. Wally respected the woman who had been Batgirl, and was now making her mark against criminals as Oracle, a kind of all-purpose superhero information hotline, since losing her legs to one of Joker's bullets. Unfortunately, she also seemed to throw Dick's life upside down time and time again.

"No, we didn't." The statement was made flat and unemotional, but the tic was visible as Dick clenched and unclenched his jaw.

"Dick." Wally sighed. "Maybe you should just let her go this time. It's been eight months! If she were the right one for you, she wouldn't be putting you through hell every other year."

"We just have to work through a couple of issues . . ."

"Dude, look. There will always be issues. You don't give a guy back his ring every time a new one crops up."

"It's an old one this time," Dick offered. "My fault, really. Something that I need to fix. Once I can manage that, we'll get back together and everything will be perfect."

"Your fault? It's not that thing about Bruce again, is it?" Disgusted, Wally looked out the window, but the view was wasted on him when his friend was hurting.

"She has a point, Wally, and you know it. I need to grow up and start living my life without worrying about what Bruce, or Batman, might think of me. I'm a grown man, and yet I apparently still have 'daddy' issues."

Angry, Wally swung back around. "'Daddy' issues? Seriously? That's what she said? The man took you in when you were eight after seeing your own parents killed. He raised you, trained you, made you his partner and his heir, and finally adopted you as his own son! Not that you haven't been exactly that from day one . . . It isn't wrong of you to want Bruce's approval, or for you to want to make him proud! I still look for Uncle Barry's approval, too! I think Barbara has a problem with Bruce and with Batman, for whatever reason, and wants to come between the two of you as a result!"

Wally watched Dick's eyes widen and his jaw clenched once more. _Shit!_ Did he really say that out loud? It's been something he had thought for a long time, but never had the nerve to say before. He knew Dick had been in love with Barbara since high school, and he also knew that criticizing a guy's girlfriend is a surefire way to destroy their own relationship. So for selfish reasons, Wally had always bitten his tongue on this particular issue. It was a no-win scenario for sure.

"That can't be it," Dick exclaimed. "She works with him too closely. This is all about me."

Now Wally's jaw was clenching. "Stop it! This isn't about you. Look, you and Bruce have had problems enough. You two are finally speaking to one another again. You've been happier than you have been in years since the two of you have come to terms. And then Barbara suddenly dumps you, claiming Bruce has too strong a hold on you, and you can't be your own man! No, Dick. She's the one who has the problem, not you."

"She still loves me, though," Dick whispered. "I can work this out. I know I can."

Seeing the shine in his friend's eyes, Wally took a breath and forced himself to calm down. "Look, maybe you're right. Maybe she still loves you, but I can't help but think that she hates Bruce more."

Shocked, Dick stared at him a moment. A car horn blared, and he was suddenly swerving back into his own lane. This was too dangerous, Dick thought, pulling over into a parking lot. He was going to get them both killed trying to talk about this while driving.

"She doesn't hate Bruce," he insisted, pulling to a stop.

"Fine! Maybe she doesn't hate him, but she definitely has a problem with him. And as long as she does, she's going to expect you to have one with him also." Wally reached over and grabbed Dick's hand. "I saw what those years of not talking to Bruce did to you. It also kept you away from Tim and Alfred. Now, there is Damian to consider as well. Is it right or fair of her to demand you put a barrier between you and the rest of your family for her sake alone? Is that really love when it is so selfish it cannot share you with the most important people in your life?"

One lone tear balanced precariously on the edge of his lash, finally falling when Dick blinked. Wally bit the inside of his cheek. It had been a long time since he had seen Dick cry. He wondered how long it had been since his friend had allowed himself to do so in front of another person. Wally didn't think it was possible for Dick to change so drastically from the sensitive, sweet kid he had been when the two of them had first met. And he hadn't changed really, just become more private over the last few years.

"What has Bruce said about all of this? I assumed you've talked with him about it, or maybe to Alfred . . ."

"I haven't talked with him about it other than to tell him that we broke up."

"What did he say to that?" Wally was curious. Being the other side of the issue, he wondered what Bruce had to say about Barbara.

Dick shrugged. "Nothing. You know Bruce. He just nodded and grunted, acknowledging the fact, and then continued on as if nothing had changed."

When it came to Dick, Wally knew that Bruce wasn't generally a hands-off kind of guy. The man had an opinion, but for some reason he was keeping it to himself. _Perhaps,_ Wally thought, _he felt the same fear that I have had; of saying something critical about Barbara, and losing Dick because of it._

"Alfred?"

"Alfred's been surprisingly mum about it as well."

"You can't just sit here and wait," Wally pleaded. "You'll stagnate. You have to move on whether you want to or not. It's been eight months since you and Babs broke up this last time. Have you been out with anyone since then?"

Dick gave a watery laugh. "No, but crime's been down in Bludhaven."

Wally laughed in spite of himself. He punched Dick in the arm lightly. "You know what you need?"

Dick looked at him suspiciously. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You need to get laid."

All the tension drained out of the car as both men burst out laughing.

"I know this girl . . ."

Dick held up his hand, still laughing. "Stop! I don't want to hear anything else. But . . . but maybe you're right."

Wally perked up at that, grinning. It wasn't often that he was right. "I am? Ah, about what, exactly?"

"I _should_ start dating again," Dick admitted, hesitantly.

"Good for you! But promise me something first."

Dick frowned. "Yeah, okay. What's that?"

"No redheads!"


	2. The Serenade

**DISCLAIMER: The song, My Funny Valentine, is a show tune written by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart for the musical Babes in Arms. I do NOT own this song! I just thought it would be a fun way to enhance the story. Look it up, if you've never heard it before. **

Chapter 1: THE SERENADE

"Would you care for dinner this evening, sir?"

Dick Grayson smiled in greeting to his waiter as he sat at his usual table. He'd been coming every Thursday to Chez Donovan for the past five weeks, ever since he had first seen _her_. Dick perused the menu. He didn't eat every time he came because the restaurant was rather expensive. Of course, the food was truly excellent and the service impressive, thus deserving its higher prices . . .

"The grilled Ora King Salmon with a glass of Pinot Noir, please," Dick handed the waiter his menu.

"A very good choice, sir."

The man was about to walk away when Dick caught his sleeve. "She's singing tonight, isn't she?"

The waiter smiled. "Yes sir. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday."

He had shown up last night, only to be disappointed when another singer had appeared – not that the other woman wasn't talented; it was just that she wasn't _her_. He had left after being assured he should come back tonight.

Since the restaurant's recent remodel, business was booming. Of course, one of the changes made was the live entertainment and brand-new dance floor. Dick had brought a date the first time he had come, shortly after it had reopened. Wanting to impress his date, he had bandied Bruce's name to get reservations and an excellent table.

Her name had been Sandra, or maybe Cheryl, something or another; a tall blonde with rather risqué tastes in clothes. At the time, Dick appreciated the short, skin-tight dress that shimmered in fascinating ways as she moved, but that was _before_ the entertainment began. He was still more than a little embarrassed that he had so totally forgotten the woman he had brought with him. It had been inexcusable of him, and of course the date had deteriorated after that. When the singer had paused for a break after an hour, he had been surprised to find himself alone. The waiter had had to inform him that his date had left in a cab twenty minutes earlier. Dick had learned from his mistake, however. Every time since then, he had come alone.

The meal was superb, as usual, and after ordering another glass of wine, Dick leaned back in his chair. This was becoming a rather expensive obsession of his. The orchestra had been playing throughout the dinner, but now it was ten o'clock and the real show was about to begin.

He wiped his hands on his pants. It was nuts, but he was nervous enough that his palms were sweating. He had never spoken to her; never even called attention to himself. Dick only ever sat and listened, but for the past few times he had come to see her, his heart started pounding in the moments before she took the stage and butterflies invaded his stomach. Tonight was no different with the exception that the feelings were, if possible, even more intense!

Brian Donovan, the restaurant/club owner, stepped up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you tonight's spectacular entertainment. Please help me to welcome to the stage Miss Arabella Hamilton!"

Miss Hamilton had been headlining a few nights a week, apparently only for the last three months, but already she had a following. The audience welcomed her to the stage with enthusiastic applause. Dick reminded himself to remain seated. This was a very upscale place, and the management probably wouldn't be amused if he jumped to his feet, whistling like the pathetic fanboy he had become.

As had happened every time she had appeared, Arabella took his breath away. He was unaware of his jaw dropping. Every time he saw her, she was even more beautiful than the last. Time slowed, and the restaurant and its patrons faded away. His world consisted only of his table and Arabella on the stage, as if she were performing exclusively for him.

He didn't know why he hadn't approached her. He had never really been shy before. Hell, he had been raised in a circus until he was almost nine years old; performing nearly every night with his parents on the trapeze since he was six. He had eaten up the attention as only a performer could. But staring at her up there in all her poised grace and beauty . . . He felt as though he were a humble acolyte in the presence of his goddess. He took another sip of his wine to assuage his sudden attack of dry mouth. The ridiculousness of his situation was not lost on him, but that didn't alter the fact that she affected him.

Arabella Hamilton was average in height, barely topping 5'4", but that was likely the only thing about her that could be described as average. Her long, dark brown hair tonight was gathered up near her crown; the loose curls cascading down past her shoulders, soft tendrils framing her oval face. Her eyes were large and dark, but that was all he could tell from this distance. An elegant, sloping nose topped a wide mouth with full, shapely lips. The strapless gown she wore was stunning; a deep bold red that warmed her skin and accentuated her lush curves. Not slender was she, but rather just shy of voluptuous. Dick couldn't tell if she were athletic or not from here. There wasn't any sign of the muscle definition that had graced most of the girlfriends he had had, like Babs or Kori. It had dawned on him recently that the vast majority of women he had relationships with were not simply athletic, but crime fighters much like himself.

Her mouth opened, and all thoughts fell out of his mind as if someone had opened a door and all the clutter had fallen out until nothing was left but her voice. His last thought was that this must be her super power.

* * *

><p>Arabella Hamilton had never really experienced stage fright before. Sure, she felt a little nervous excitement before she walked out before an audience, but this was different. Her palms were actually sweating! She decided to wear a wireless headset tonight rather than risk dropping the microphone because of clammy hands. Her heart was pounding, her stomach felt like a flock of sparrows had roosted there, and she felt breathless; not a good thing for a singer to experience!<p>

And it was all _his_ fault . . .

She peeked out again, her eyes searching out his usual table. His suit was dark and impeccably tailored. If he didn't have money, he was still used to the finer things in life. His tie was the bright, intense blue. She liked its touch. The happy color kept him from seeming too serious; hinting at the possible presence of a sense of humor. While _that _was one of the most important characteristics in a person to her, but it certainly was not the only thing that attracted her! This guy was also the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on, and that was saying something!

His masculinity practically reached out to surround her even where she hid behind the curtain. It was there in the breadth of his shoulders and width of his chest, but it was also almost a palpable thing as well. As if she could reach out a hand to touch it. His dark hair could use a haircut, but she liked it like this. It made him less fussy and more approachable. She had been surrounded for most of her life by the GQ-type; the professional, metrosexual man. While she appreciated a well-groomed man as much as the next woman, those who were more obsessed with fashion and appearances than she was left her with a vague impression of spinelessness.

She had first noticed him several weeks ago when the woman he had come with made a bit of an angry show of leaving in the middle of her performance. Daniel, the couple's waiter, had told them that the man had apparently hadn't even noticed it at the time. He had had the good grace to blush, however, when Daniel had informed him of her departure nearly a half an hour later, but Elle felt relieved when Daniel had assured her that the woman had grumbled that he had been the worst date she had ever had.

_So_ . . . Elle had thought, pleased in spite of the woman's words. _He was single_ . . .

He came every Thursday, sat at the same table near the front, and didn't leave until after her show was over. He never brought another date with him; never asked another woman to dance. He would occasionally have dinner, but sometimes he merely nursed a drink all evening. And stared at her . . .

Maybe she should feel alarmed by that; potential stalker and all, but instead she felt . . . flattered. Attractive. Thrilled . . . and alive!

With her background, one would think that such attention would be accepted as her normal due. The daughter of one of Chicago's most powerful and wealthy businessmen, she had had her fair share of so-called "dates". But they were men that her father or brother had hand-chosen to escort her to an event. Sometimes she was being introduced to that night's escort when he came to pick her up. Their conversations were flat. The men talked only about themselves, business, or either her father or brother. Every single one of them were more interested in impressing her relatives than in Elle as a person. Occasionally, there would be a man who would feign interest, but she had never been fooled, mostly because of the glazed look in his eyes when she began talking about her love of music, her desire to get out of Chicago, and to earn her own way. She was always dropped back off at the end of the evening at her father's apartment with a business-like handshake.

It had taken her a long time to convince her father to allow her an opportunity to get out on her own; to prove she could be successful without his assistance. It was why she had come to Bludhaven. The city was close enough to Chicago that her father wouldn't have a heart attack, but far enough away that she felt at least a modicum of independence. What would be even better would be if, every time she stepped out of her apartment building, she didn't see one of her father's vehicles with either one or both of her personal bodyguards inside.

Her eyes glanced toward the back of the restaurant, to a corner table near the kitchen, and sure enough, there they both were. Edward and Hugh had been with her since her mother had died when she was seven. They were like family, but like her father, they tended to hover and Elle wished they would go back to Chicago.

Wiping her hands off on the curtain, Elle prepared to take the stage as her boss and friend, Brian Donovan, introduced her. Her eyes strayed back to the man who was the source of her current nervousness. He sat up and set his wineglass down.

Oh yes, he was interested. A voice in her head wondered if he were a record producer, interested only in how many records she might be able to sell. That idea was at once flattering and depressing because Elle was interested in him as well. Just not in a business sense.

He was the first man that _she_ had ever been interested in, in her whole life. She was twenty-three years old, so that was actually saying something. He had never made a move, however. Never sent her a note, a song request, or flowers; never asked to be introduced, nor even asked if she were single or not. And Elle was getting tired of waiting. She wasn't the type of woman who made the first move, though. She remembered her grandmother, a very wise, Italian woman, once telling her that if she pursued the man, then she would never be entirely certain of his affections. Was he too polite to refuse her offer? Was he merely alleviating his boredom until something better came along? No, she said, it was far better to allow the man to pursue her.

Men were elemental creatures who, like animals, reveled in the hunt. The more difficult the pursuit of his objective, the more valuable she would become to him; the more fascinating she would be. At least that was the advice her grandmother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Of course, then again, the old woman had never met such a frustrating man as the one whom Elle found herself currently obsessing over.

Determination washed over her. Elle was nothing if not a problem solver. She would compromise without relaxing her beliefs. She would give him a sign that she was interested in him, and then place the ball firmly in his court. And wait . . . She hated waiting, but she would do it because apparently all this waiting she had been doing for the past five weeks had made this man seem all that more valuable and fascinating to her . . . Damn it!

She smiled widely because she loved what she was doing, and because _he_ was watching her. She waved her hand to the applauding audience and moved center stage as the band began playing the first few bars to the intro of her song. Her eyes strayed back to him of their own accord, as they would likely do the entirety of the evening. He was alert and yet relaxed. He was smiling back at her. He looked happy to see her; to listen to her sing, and _that _made her way too happy to be safe.

* * *

><p>Reporter Maria Sanchez stood near the back of the restaurant preparing to do the fluff piece that would give Chez Donovan some great publicity. Her cameraman, Bart, was panning around the room looking for good angles. They had been treated to dinner on the house. It was delicious, but the prices were a bit stiff for the average Joe to afford on a regular basis. Still, not so high that an evening here wouldn't be a terrific splurge for a special occasion.<p>

The restaurant now sported a stage with a small orchestra or band that provided live music during dinner, but at ten o'clock, the kitchen closed, the plates borne away by super efficient staff, and the lights lowered in preparation of the real show. Every night there was a singer to entertain those who wished to enjoy great music, and the dance floor was opened up for those who wanted to cut a rug.

The music varied depending on the night and artist showcased, but three days a week it was almost exclusively smooth jazz, so that was what their piece would feature. The singer tonight was an unknown, but she headlined for the club more often than any other performer on the payroll.

They had already interviewed the owner, the chef, the headwaiter, and several patrons, so the restaurant was covered. Now, they would highlight a number by this Arabella Hamilton, get a few reactions from the audience, and a few shots of couples dancing. She and Bart had discussed interviewing the singer, but that was still up in the air. That would mean that they would have to be here for another couple of hours, and they had spent an hour here already.

Maria was impressed, and a little jealous, truth be told, by the lovely, young woman. She had stage presence all right. She had the "look" as well. But could she sing? Bart caught her eye . . . She waved him away. Not for the first couple of songs. Give the girl a chance to warm up first. It would allow them the time to decide how they wanted to set up the shot as well.

The music started. She and Bart exchanged glances before Miss Hamilton reached the chorus. Da-a-amn, the woman was good! No, better than good! Her voice was low and sultry, and seemed to seduce the listener, mesmerize him. This chick was fantastic! No wonder she was billed three nights a week. The only question was why she wasn't performing the weekends. She was certainly good enough for it.

Maria signaled Bart. She would give a brief introduction in front of the third song, and she began composing what she would say to the camera in her head.

* * *

><p>Elle tried to focus her attention on the crowd, but try as she might, she couldn't get that man out of her mind. She hadn't planned this out. She had meant to wait until further into the evening at least before she did . . . <em>something.<em> She just wasn't sure what that something would be.

As she wrapped up her second song of the evening, Elle couldn't take it anymore. Once she decided a course of action, she wanted to plunge right in. The there was the issue that the longer she waited, the more likely it would be that she would chicken out in the end. As soon as the music stopped, Elle turned around and switching off her mike for a moment as an idea flitted through her mind.

"Hey, guys," she began, startling the band members. "I know we have a playlist already decided upon for the night, but I want to add something to it."

Morris, who led the band and played the bass, stepped closer to her. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

><p>The red indicator light on the camera began flashing. She was on the air. Maria smiled into the lens and began.<p>

"Now that you've had a glimpse into the food, the service, and the atmosphere of the newly renovated restaurant, Chez Donovan, let's discover together what real changes have been made.

"As you can see behind me, there is a new dance floor, and what would a dance floor be without music? Substantial money was put into adding a stage for a small orchestra or band, depending on the night, that provides the restaurant's customers with a wonderful selection of music for their dining pleasure. But the real show begins at ten o'clock each night when the restaurant closes its kitchen and the nightclub set kicks in.

"A variety of singers are headlined each night with their own style of music, ranging from easy pop, to blues, to swing, to jazz. Something for everyone to enjoy! Tonight's singer, Miss Arabella Hamilton, will be showcasing smooth jazz . Let's take a listen . . ."

* * *

><p>Elle began slinking her way to the steps that led down to the floor as soon as the music began. She began singing as she moved down them, slowly drawing out the notes.<p>

"My funny valentine,

Sweet, comic valentine,

You make me smile with my heart . . ."

Dick's eyes widened as he realized that Miss Hamilton was staring directly at him as she sang. He sat up in his chair as she turned and made her way directly to his table. He touched his chin, and sure enough, it was hanging open. He closed it with a snap. As she neared his table, unsure of what else to do, Dick stood up to meet her.

"Your looks are laughable,

Unphotographable,

Yet you're my favorite work of art . . ."

He didn't seem upset, Elle thought. In fact, he was smiling at her broadly, flashing all those straight, white teeth. He'd surprised her when he'd stood, although she hadn't a clue what kind of reaction she would get. She had leaned towards the idea that he would sit there while she walked around him, petting his shoulder seductively. When he stood, she had felt a thrill of fear that he would turn and walk out of the restaurant forever. What she got, however, went far beyond her wildest dreams . . .

Dick took her hand and pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist. She sang like an angel, and now he knew for a fact that she felt like heaven in his arms. The words of the song, one he had heard before but had never paid attention to, were funny, and he laughed as he swept her up into a slow dance while she serenaded him.

"Is your figure less than Greek?

Is your mouth a little weak?

When you open it to speak . . . Are you smart?"

She was finally able to see the color of his eyes. Why did the fact that his eyes and his tie were the same gorgeous blue send butterflies fluttering about inside her stomach? Then her heart skipped a beat the moment she realized that he was gazing back into hers with equal intensity. It was as if he were trying to reach inside of her and discover her soul . . . It took some effort to keep her voice from trembling with the rest of her.

Dick finally was able to see her beautiful eyes up close and personal, and they were as stunning as the rest of her. Dark brown, like her hair, with thick black lashes. He could see gold striations that fanned out in a starburst around her pupils; pupils that were dilating . . . That meant something, he thought, something he couldn't quite remember. Attraction, maybe? Yes . . . sexual attraction. He suddenly realized that she was searching his eyes with the same fervency as he was hers. He wondered, as he spun her around in a tight circle, if his own eyes were dilating. And, if she noticed, did she know the reason why?

"Oh, but don't change your hair for me.

Not if you care for me.

Stay, funny valentine, stay . . ."

His hands were strong and warm. He felt . . . safe, and moreover, she felt safe with him. But how could that be when she didn't even know him. Not his name; not anything about him. And yet . . . She wanted to stay right there in his arms forever.

She felt perfect to him. Like a glove made specifically for his hand alone. She looked up at him with those amazing eyes that seemed to see everything, and he felt ten feet tall; like he could do anything, even fly without a grapple or line. So long as she just continued to look at him. Just. Like. That.

"Each day is Valentine's . . .

Stay, my funny valentine . . .

Every day is Valentine's Day."

They had been smiling at each other, but as the song slowed to an end, the smiles faded, just as the world had for them in the beginning. Dick dipped her low, their faces only inches apart. Her breathe smelled like cinnamon, and he had the sudden urge to lick her lips, to see if she tasted as sweet. His eyes slid of their own accord to her lips.

The spell had not been broken, but strengthened. His face was so close. Close enough to kiss. Elle found her eyes being dragged down to his lips. The lower lip was a bit fuller than his top one, and begged to be nipped. She licked her lips in anticipation. She thought he leaned in a little closer . . .

* * *

><p>Maria gripped Bart's arm like a vise. When he could tear his gaze from the image in his screen, she mouthed to him, "Are you getting this? WOW!"<p>

He nodded, turning back to the magical scene playing out in front of them and an entire room full of people. There was silence for a pregnant pause after the last note faded, and then the audience burst into wild applause! Maria did as well. This footage was . . . Well, it was golden!

* * *

><p>The applause startled them out of their revelry. Dick was rather astounded that he didn't drop her, so startled was he. Arabella looked as out of sorts as he felt. She glanced around at the entire audience on their feet, and her blushed; a beautiful shade of pink. He suddenly realized that he was still leaning over her, holding her in that deep dip. His own face grew warm in response. He lifted her back to her feet. His hands were slow to release her, but he managed the difficult feat and stepped back. Taking one of her hands, he bowed over it; placing the kiss upon her knuckles that he very nearly placed on her lips mere seconds ago.<p>

"Thank you for the song . . . and the dance." He hoped he sounded as sincere as he felt.

She seemed dazed for a moment, staring at her hand. Abruptly, she looked up into his face, and beamed, literally a ray of sunshine, at him. It took his breath away.

"You're welcome . . ." she paused as if she wanted to say more, but then seemed to remember where they were. She stepped back, pulling her hand slowly out of his, as if (he hoped) she was as reluctant to stop touching him as he was her.

The applause was still slowly tapering off. It was a far greater response to such a sweet, simple song than she might have imagined. She wondered what sort of spectacle they had made of themselves . . . Whatever had happened, the audience apparently loved it!

She smiled and waved, as the people slowly retook their seats. It was then that Elle noticed the camera and reporter standing near the back. She had been so focused on the man behind her that she hadn't realized that the news people were coming tonight to do a plug for the restaurant. They had just filmed the entire thing.

* * *

><p>She glanced over her shoulder to the man of her dreams. It had ended so positively . . . better than she had hoped, in fact. There was no question now that she was interested in him, and she thought that maybe he returned it, but how would he feel when he saw himself on television? Would he be embarrassed? Angry? Would he come back? Determination filled her. This was important to her. A first for her, and she wasn't allowing a ridiculous publicity plug to get in the way. She made a hand movement to the band, and took a break. They began playing another tune for those who wished to dance, and she made her way to the back.<p>

"That was beautiful! Simply wonderful," the news reporter gushed when Elle reached them. "I can't wait to get this footage back to the station. People are going to love it!"

"You can't put that on the air," Elle blurted out.

That brought both heads around to stare at her, the reporter and the cameraman. "I don't understand. You wanted some good publicity about the renovation and grand re-opening of Chez Donovan; something that would draw attention to the late night club and live entertainment. I can't imagine a better bit than what we just witnessed ," the woman said, perplexed. "It was stunning!"

"You don't understand," Elle began. She was distracted by the flashing red light on the camera. The camera guy had it focused on the two of them. "Are you recording this?"

"That's Bart," the reporter said, attempting to distract her. "My name is Maria Sanchez. Perhaps you recognize me . . ."

Elle turned to her. "Is he recording this?"

Bart peeked around the camera at her. "No. The red light means stand-by," he blatantly lied to her face.

Elle stared at him suspiciously. Maria was smiling serenely at her when Elle returned her attention to the reporter. "As I was saying, I would really appreciate it if you would record another song to use."

Maria blinked at her. "But why? What we got was pure gold!"

"Yes, you said that," Elle grumbled. "Look, can I be honest with you, woman to woman?"

Interest peaked in Maria's eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Do you see that man over there?" She pointed back to the man she had just serenaded.

"You mean that gorgeous hunk that you just made figurative love to in the middle of the restaurant? Yes, what about him? Is he your boyfriend; husband?" Maria looked in his direction with frank appreciation. _He looks vaguely familiar,_ she thought briefly before her attention was once more taken by the woman in front of her. _As a matter of fact, so does the singer. I'm pretty sure that I have seen both of them before._

Elle's mouth dropped open as heat flooded her cheeks. "Uh, um, yeah. Well, he's not my boyfriend or anything like that. In fact, I've never met him before. But he's been coming to see my show for several weeks, and _well_, I kind of wanted him to maybe ask me out. You know, on a date." She blew a frustrated sigh. "But he's never sent me a note, or flowers, or anything really. I mean, he seems to be interested, but he just sits there every Thursday night and watches me, and then at the end of the evening, he leaves. Just leaves . . ."

Understanding suddenly dawned on the reporter. "Wow! Well, I'd have to say you two have got plenty of chemistry going for you, at least. Why do you not ask him out yourself?"

Elle looked shocked. "I couldn't!"

Bart peeked around the camera at her. "Why not?" When the women looked at him, his ears turned red. "I mean, if I had a hot, sexy woman singing to me like that, and she asked me out, I would definitely be saying yes."

"Are you sure that thing isn't recording this?" That light was still on; still flashing. It was annoying. Elle frowned at the camera.

"Absolutely," Maria assured her, but she threw a glance at the camera herself. "Why can't you ask him out instead?"

Elle didn't want to get into that. "Just advice my grandmother gave me once. Men ask the women."

"Your grandmother sounds like a very nice lady, but this is the twenty-first century. Women ask men out all the time."

"Well, maybe other women do, but _I _don't!" Elle insisted. "I didn't realize you were recording me when I did that or it would never have happened."

"Now, _that_ would have been a crying shame . . ." Maria said.

"Please! I will do another song for you. I'm just afraid that he might not ever come back if this should embarrass him." Elle pleaded.

"Honey, he's a hottie, but you probably have men lined up around the corner and down the block . . ." Maria scoffed.

Elle frowned at the thought. That was rather intimidating. "I-I wouldn't know about that. I've never actually . . . been out on a date before," she admitted reluctantly.

"No way! That's impossible," Maria gasped. How could someone so lovely reach her majority without even one date? "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-three," she said. "I've been out to places before, but those were with escorts picked out for me. I've never actually been out with someone whom I was interested in. This is all new to me. And I would greatly appreciate it if you both would help me out here."

Maria wrinkled her nose in thought. "I've seen you before. I know I have. Hamilton . . ." She perked up. "Are you any relation to Cedric Hamilton out of Chicago?"

Elle pursed her lips. "He's my father."

"Your family is worth millions. Probably millions upon millions," Maria looked at her shrewdly.

"What? Are you wanting an introduction to my brother or something?" Elle sighed. Aidan was rich, attractive, and the heir apparent to their father's business. Women were forever trying to get in thick with him, and willing to use his little sister to accomplish it.

"To your father, actually."

Elle blinked. "Ah, he's a little old for you."

Maria blinked back. "What? Oh, no! Not like that!" The singer had actually managed to make her blush. "I mean, I would like to interview him."

"My father doesn't do interviews," Elle explained, worriedly. "Does this mean you'll run this footage because my father won't do an interview with you?"

"Surely, if daddy's little girl asked him sweetly, he would grant just this one. For you . . ." Maria smiled. It wasn't a pretty smile, however. Elle thought it made her look alarmingly like a shark.

Her father did like to dote on her, Elle mused, not that she encouraged such behavior from him. She felt like he considered her requests as ways to control her. But then, she seldom asked him for anything . . . Maybe, he would do this thing for her simply _because_ she never asked him for favors. He would feel it would give him an edge over her, for sure, especially now that she was defiantly stepping out from under his wing to assert her independence.

Elle looked back in the direction of her interest to discover that he was glancing back at her. He was watching her? He smiled a private kind of smile and tipped his glass in her direction. Suddenly, she had trouble catching her breath again. Unfortunately, Morris was also sending looks in her direction as well, she noticed, as her eyes slipping past her fantasy to the band leader. Morris' were decidedly less friendly, however. She needed to wrap this up quickly and get back to the stage.

How badly did she want this? She sneaked another look in _his _direction. He was just so . . . beautiful. Was he as lovely inside as he was on the outside? She might never know . . . The decision came quickly.

"All right. I'll see what I can do, but if my father refuses, it is out of my hands. I want the tape, however, in return. The original copy; the _only_ copy!" She looked directly into the camera, and pointed at Bart. "Including this part. Now, stop filming me!"

Bart had the good grace, at least, to blush. He gave her a thumbs up as the light finally went out.

"Okay, deal," Maria said. "But you have to give us another performance just like that one. A serenade! Oh, it doesn't have to be wonder boy over there . . . But it needs to be something exciting. And you have to actually _try_ to talk your father into an interview with me."

"I'll give it my best shot," she promised, telling herself that _he_ was worth it. Knowing what she was setting herself up for, she thought, _he had better be worth it._

* * *

><p>Mr. Donovan walked up to Elle as she drank the bottled water they kept backstage for her. The rest of the show went very well. The audience was incredibly responsive to her tonight. She had sang a love song, serenading a couple celebrating their 25th anniversary at their table just before a huge cake was presented to them by their several friends who had taken them to Chez Donovan's for the occasion. It was sweet, rather than hot and steamy like her earlier performance had been. It worked., however. Maria Sanchez had looked pleased.<p>

"This is for you," he said, handing her a card. "You know, they will be expecting you to do something similar from here on out," he added conversationally.

She blushed in spite of herself. "I'll try not to disappoint."

"Unless you can pull another performance out of your hat like that Funny Valentine, you just might do that." He stared at her.

"I hope you aren't upset with me." Elle bit her lip.

Donovan laughed. "How could I be? You brought the house down, Elle. And, after expending so much energy this evening, you should probably read that rather than continue demolishing it," he said, pointing at the card she was currently shredding.

Elle gasped, and tried to straighten the edges. It wasn't in too terrible of shape yet. Nothing was written on this side, so she turned it over.

It read:

Thank you for the song and dance. Would you like to have coffee with me afterwards? – Dick Grayson

Donovan tapped his finger to her chin, and she snapped it closed. Elle let out a happy squeal and threw her arms around her employer's neck. He chuckled at the joy and excitement he could see in her eyes. She had only been with him for three months, but Brian Donovan had come to see Elle much as he saw his own daughters. Arabella was at least seven years older than his eldest, who was just beginning to date, but she was nowhere near as experienced at dealing with the opposite sex as his Pamela was. Elle was as naïve as they come, and he heart ached at the thought of her getting hurt.

He knew Bruce Wayne far better than he did the man's son, but the idea of Elle starting out with the son of a rich playboy bothered him more than he could say. But Elle was an adult. She had intentionally sought the young man's attention. He hadn't like seeing how the young man had treated his date those weeks ago, but he was apparently gracious with the servers, and polite to the hostess. Against his better judgment, Brian had agreed to deliver the young man's message.

He watched as Elle grabbed a fresh card and borrowed his pen. She hesitated a moment, and then rubbed the card vigorously on her wrist before writing her reply, and handing it back to him.

Donovan glanced down at the elegant penmanship. He would give the young man the note, but with it a stern warning as well.

"I had better go out there. I have another four songs to sing before closing." Elle took another swig of the water, and then turned and sauntered out on the stage in a way that belied the young woman's innocence.

Dick was enjoying the show. This was Miss Hamilton's last song before closing. His gut churned with nervousness. He had seen Donovan coming out from backstage mere seconds after Arabella. He knew the man had given her his note. He thought he knew the answer from the smiles that she would occasionally shoot his way, but frustratingly, Donovan had chosen to wait to give him her answer. As chair pulled out beside him, and Dick glanced over at the man himself. Dick nodded, but turned his head back to the stage.

"She's not as experienced with men as her performances would lead you to believe," Donovan said as an opening. Although his eyes were on the performance, Dick heard his words easily over the music, and his disapproval. "She's new to this. I would have your promise, Mr. Grayson, that you would have a care of her heart. She is sweet and terribly naïve, and I tend to look at her as I might a daughter."

At this, Dick looked directly at him. He nodded seriously because Donovan seemed to expect that. "I wouldn't dream of hurting her, sir."

"Just so we understand each other." Donovan slid the card across the table as he got up and moved away, back to the business at hand.

After a moment, Dick gathered his courage and looked at the card, noting the beautiful, sloping curves of her handwriting; as elegant as the woman herself.

"_I would be delighted, Mr. Grayson. –Elle_"

She called herself, Elle. He smiled at the nickname. He liked it, he thought as he glanced up at the woman on the stage. It seemed to fit her, in some aspect that wasn't completely clear to him yet. He met her gaze and grinned. He couldn't wait to learn all there was to this angel with the sultry voice. He was about to tuck the card into his jacket pocket when the whiff of her perfume caught his attention. He raised the card to his nose. No doubt about it, as the soft floral scent enveloped his senses. He winked at her as he slid the card near his heart. He nearly laughed when she blushed brightly enough to see from his table.

Always before, Dick had been disappointed when the show ended. Tonight, however, he felt a nervous exhilaration. It was a good feeling, he thought as Elle bowed and waved to those couples remaining, wishing them a safe trip home. It was a very good feeling, indeed.


	3. First Date

**I attempted to set this entire scene (except for the last) up as seen from the viewfinder of a video camera. I hope this isn't too awkward, but I wanted the reader to imagine that he/she was watching this play as seen on a television. I also show the occasional thoughts of the character wielding the camera, and there is a place where a third party is filming the action for them. I'd be very interested in your opinions about how this turned out. Was it too awkward to follow? Was it an interesting viewpoint? **

THE FIRST DATE

The shaking image of a man's hand tugging at a woman's hand appears; breathless laughter in the background. He is obviously leading her somewhere.

"Come on! I've got something to show you," Dick's voice is heard saying.

The camera moves to focus on his face as he looks back over his shoulder. He is grinning broadly. His eyes are shining with life and humor . . . and something else.

"Are we late? Why are we running?" Elle's voice confirms her as the cameraman.

"Not late," Dick tells her. "It's a great day to be alive! It makes me feel like running . . . Doesn't it you?"

Muffled laughter is his immediate answer. "Of course," she says, her voice bobbing in time with her steps. "I'll follow you anywhere . . . As long as it isn't much farther. After that, you will have to carry me."

"It's just ahead," he tells her. "We're almost there."

The camera flashes ahead, past Dick's shoulder. There is a field of grass that leads down the hill to a lake surrounded by a wooded area. One can see numerous short piers. The picture suddenly veers, however, as Dick spins back suddenly. The viewer might believe that Elle is about to barrel into him when the image swings abruptly skyward. Elle yelps in surprise.

The jiggling picture struggles to focus, and strands of short, dark hair and a wildly jouncing landscape come into view. The feminine laughter is louder now and punctuated with shrieks. The picture slowly moves until it lights upon Dick's face; very close-up and angled up from somewhere below his jawline. He's looking past the camera at Elle.

"How's this? Any better," he asks. His eyes shimmer with happiness, and that something else, so hard to define, is even more obvious to the observant viewer.

"My hero! . . . Um, you aren't seriously going to carry me the rest of the way, are you," Elle asks in reply.

"It's not so far," he assures her.

"Far enough!" Elle's voice grows concerned. "Put me down, Dick. I'm too heavy."

"Nonsense! You are as light as a feather," he insists. His grin fades to one of mock seriousness. "But, any farther and you would have to walk."

The camera angle changes again as Dick begins to run with her in his arms. Elle's squeals and hysterical laughter chime out as the landscape bounces wildly for several minutes. There is a feeling of vertigo for the viewer as Elle is set back on her feet. She brings the picture back around to find Dick, in a tan, cable-knit sweater and dark blue jeans, stretching his back muscles dramatically as he groans.

"Whew! You really did me in," he complains.

Elle gasps. Concern colors her voice. "I _told_ you not to carry me! Are you . . . Oh! You faker! You aren't even breathing hard!"

Dick laughs and turns her and the camera toward an older building with green peeling paint with white trim that is nestled in the trees near the lake's edge.

"You must be in amazing shape," she observes as she continues filming. "So, where are we? Oh, boat rentals," she exclaims, enthusiastically. The camera pans to the business sign. "How fun!"

Dick passes through the picture as he steps up to the cheap, laminate counter to do business with the grizzled, old fellow manning the place. Elle sweeps the camera back to the lake. There are several redwood-stained piers jutting out over the water's edge. Each pier contained a different style of boat; row boats, an array of colorful paddle boats, and a stack of aluminum canoes.

"Ooh, can we do a canoe? Please?" Elle begged.

Dick's voice floats from behind her. "You heard the lady . . . A canoe, it is!"

Elle squeals happily. "Yes! Best. Date. Ever!"

* * *

><p>Dick laughs at her reaction as he juggles a couple of oars and two orange life vests. He takes the camera as he hands Elle her vest. Immediately the camera turns on Elle. She looks beautiful with her long, dark hair loose about her shoulders, and her cheeks pink from her earlier exertion. She is wearing a bright blue, flannel shirt over a bit of lacy, cream camisole, and snug black jeans; comfortable wear for a day at the park in early October. Dick couldn't help being pleased that she showed up for their date wearing his colors, even if it had been entirely unintentional.<p>

"I thought you told me this was your _first_ date ever."

"It is," she agreed. "But it has to be the best because, seriously, I don't think you can top this. I mean hiking, a picnic, _and_ canoes? I am at the pinnacle!"

As they start walking towards the lake, the camera dips down to check out how well Elle's swaying hips fill out her jeans. As if she knows what he is doing, she glances back over her shoulder. The picture jerks up to her face. He'd been caught! Guilty as charged. Dick clears his throat as Elle smirks at him, raising her eyebrow knowingly.

"What," Dick asks in mock innocence and she laughs at him, non-offended.

Walking sideways, she holds up the dingy, orange vest between two fingers. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"It's a life vest, Elle. You're supposed to wear it while out on the lake."

She makes a face, scowling at the vest as if it is infested with vermin. "I don't think so."

"It's meant to keep you safe from drowning."

She shakes her head sadly. "No way, Dick. I worked hard to look this good and I smell fantastic. I am not putting this orange . . . thing on and ruining it. It smells like fish and mildew."

He did a close-up on her face. There was the barest trace of makeup highlighting her amazing eyes, otherwise her beauty was untouched. "I'll vouch for that. You do smell rather amazing . . ." he whispered to the camera.

Normally, such complaints from his date would annoy him, but it was obvious, even to the camera, that her comments were meant to be teasing. He wondered why something that would bother him in other women, even Babs or Kori, on Elle, was utterly adorable and even enchanting.

It must be her attitude, he decided. She was just so happy . . . and sweet; so full of the joy of life. There didn't appear to be a conceited bone in her body. He knew because he had _looked_! No, despite her words, he knew she wasn't angry, but rather determined to have her own way.

"I think it is a rule, Elle, for insurance purposes," he explained patiently.

She sighed. "I wonder if they have water wings instead."

"Water wings?"

"You know. Those inflatable cuffs you slide up your arms."

Laughter was in his voice as he answered. "I believe those are for children, Elle."

Through the viewfinder, Dick could see the wheels of her mind turning right there on her face. He was suddenly curious. Her mind, he was quickly discovering, worked in fascinating, if unusual ways. She winked at him, and skipped ahead.

Although he continued on at a normal pace, he kept the camera focused on her as she made her way to the young guy manning the pier. She was speaking to him earnestly, but was too far away for Dick or the camera's microphone to pick up what she was saying. The man was shaking his head at her over and over. Dick had told her that she would have to wear the vest if she wanted to go out on the lake.

So, Dick was audibly surprised when the man suddenly nodded and took the offensive vest from her fingers. "What the . . .? How did she . . .?"

By the time he arrived, the man was handing her into the canoe. She was beaming up at him sans one stinky, orange vest. The man offered a hand for Dick's vest as well. Being a good swimmer, he shrugged, giving the the pier guy his vest as well. After all, he thought he smelled rather good himself.

A few minutes later, they were paddling several yards out, following the shoreline. The camera sat on the bench between them, its picture focused on Elle's back.

"So, are you going to tell me how you managed to get that guy to allow us to take a canoe out without a vest," Dick finally asked after a few moments.

"Oh, that . . .," she sounded mildly amused. "I simply explained to him that Aquaman is my cousin."

Although the camera was pointing away from him, one could practically hear Dick gaping at her back in his voice.

"Aquaman is y-your . . . You _lied_," he stammered. He didn't know why he felt so disappointed. It was the height of hypocrisy, considering his own need to lie in order to cover up his nightly pursuits. "And pier guy fell for it?"

"Hmm," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I don't really know that it's a lie exactly . . ."

"Wha-at?"

"Well, I'm fairly certain that a merman is my great-grandfather. But whether or not he was somehow related to Aquaman is rather up in the air . . ." Elle turned halfway in her seat to look earnestly at him. "But he _could_ have been, I suppose."

"How . . .? You are pulling my leg!" Dick accused.

Elle smiled serenely at him. "It's a family legend," she announced. At what must have been his patent disbelief, she turned in her seat, setting her oar across the top of the canoe. "Seriously."

Sighing, she leaned back against the bow, and dipped her fingers lazily in the water. Sounds of Dick's paddle still plying gently could be heard along with crickets, frogs, and buzzing insects. A dragonfly zipped up to hover in front of Elle's face, and the two of them silently contemplated the other for a few seconds before the insect moved off in a different direction.

She wasn't looking at the camera when Elle finally spoke, but off to the side watching nature as it slid by them.

"My great-grandparents, on my mother's side, were on a cruise off of the coast of Spain during their honeymoon. There was a terrible storm, and the ship went down in the night. My great-grandmother was the only survivor, floating alone on the vast ocean in a small raft. She had no supplies, and there was no land in sight . . .

"After two days, she was contemplating throwing herself into the sea to join her ill-fated husband and end her suffering, when a man swam up to her life raft. She looked, but couldn't see the vessel from which he must have come. He appeared very strong and healthy, and my great-grandmother insisted that he was extremely handsome.

"He told her that he could get her to land where she could be rescued, but for a price. My great-grandmother agreed. It was unclear whether he pulled or pushed or rowed the boat, but by evening, he was pulling the raft onto the beach of a small island. There was fresh water nearby and fruit, which he gathered and used to refresh my great-grandmother. Afterward, once she had regained most of her strength, she paid him for saving her.

"He told her then to walk along the shore, and she would eventually find a small fishing community where she could get help. He then plunged back into the surf and disappeared. My great-grandmother followed his instructions, and was soon rescued by a fisherman's family. Within a few weeks, she managed to make her way back home to Italy."

"So, what was the price he required for the rescue," Dick asked hesitantly.

Elle smiled dreamily as she looked out over the lake. "My grandmother was born nine months later."

Silence reigned.

Elle's smile broadened when her eyes finally met Dick's.

"It's a family legend," she shrugged, picking up her oar and turning about.

The camera moved as Dick picked it up silently, turning it in his hand until his face filled the view. The face he made was a comical combination of shocked awe and patent disbelief. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and grinning. While he might not believe such a tale, it was clear that it had amused him. And it _was_ a good story . . . and, truthfully, a rather terrific family legend.

He set the camera back on the seat in front of him, facing Elle.

"You know," she called back over her shoulder a short while later. "I've never been in a canoe before."

"Really? What about other types of boats?"

"Oh, sure," she told him. "My father has a home on the shore of Lake Michigan. He owns several types of boats. There is a yacht, a speedboat, and my favorite, a beautiful, hand-carved wooden sailboat."

"So you came from a wealthy family?" Dick was surprised. Elle didn't act like any high-society debutante he had ever met. She seemed, instead, to be very down-to-earth.

"Oh, most of my family is wealthy," came her reply. "My father and brother both are."

Curious . . . "You don't include yourself?"

Her voice, melodic in speech, floated back conversationally. "I have lived a wealthy lifestyle, sure, but I don't consider what my father has earned as mine. I've been given much simply by 'right of birth', but none of it have I earned on my own."

That was an interesting attitude to have, he thought. It was very close to his own, in fact. Dick tried hard to make it on his own, eschewing asking Bruce for anything. It still annoyed his adopted father, he was sure, but also felt that it earned him Bruce's respect; something which Dick valued far above money or things.

"I only recently persuaded my father to allow me to attempt to earn my own way. He's not convinced that I will be successful, and would have preferred that I remain safely ensconced in the family home; protected and pampered until he found me a suitable keeper . . ." Her voice sounded irritated. "Oh, sorry. I meant '_husband_'."

Yep, she was definitely irritated. Dick frowned. Her father sounded archaic.

"Poppa is . . .," she sighed. "Old-fashioned."

"I curious," he said. "How did you manage to persuade him?"

The irritation fled as she explained. "Oh, it wasn't pretty. I had to go against my principles and accept what amounts to, in my opinion, as charity. But he gave me two years in which to prove myself."

Dick heard an ". . . Or what?"

"Well, either I am successful enough to remain on my own, or I'll likely be herded by obedient, albeit well-meaning, bodyguards to await the anointing of the 'chosen one'."

"Chosen one?"

Elle snorted. It was a surprisingly delicate sound, he thought with a twist of his lips. "The _Husband_," she clarified.

Dick found he was indignant on her behalf. "You do realize that as an adult, you cannot be forced to do anything or go anywhere against your will?"

She laughed that joy-filled laugh he could listen to all day. "You are so cute, if a little naïve."

It had been many years since he had last been called naïve. "I'm serious here, Elle. Your father cannot force you to go home if you don't want to go. It would amount to kidnapping should he try."

She waved a negligent hand at him, speaking good-naturedly despite the disturbing topic. "Since I fully intend to succeed, I would suppose that that option would be moot."

Elle swiveled around in her seat, setting her paddle astride the sides of the canoe. She pinned him with a look before she turned the camera on him. Then she leaned back against the bow of the boat.

"Enough about me," she declared. "I'm totally boring. It is your turn now. Tell me about your own family. How weird are they?"

Dick burst out laughing. "Oh, you have no idea . . ."

"They sound fabulous already!"

Dick set his paddle across his lap, and rubbed his neck. "Where to start . . .?"

"At the beginning," she suggested.

"My parents were aerialist acrobats for a circus. I was born there . . ."

Elle gasped. "Seriously?"

Obviously amused by her reaction, Dick nodded. "Seriously."

"Were you an acrobat, too? Did you perform," she asked, excitedly.

Dick grinned. "Actually, yeah, I did. At the time, I was one of the youngest aerialists in the world."

"Oh, my God, that is perhaps one of the coolest things I have ever heard!" There followed a brief scrambling in which the canoe swayed precariously as Elle picked up the camera and sat down in the middle seat.

There was a splash, and the camera swings around to focus on Elle's oar now floating in the water.

"Oh, shoot," she mutters, thrusting the camera at Dick. The canoe rocks as she leans over in an attempt to retrieve it.

Despite the rewarding view of her backside, Dick rescues her from tumbling headlong into the water, and passes the camera back to her.

"Easy," he laughed. "Hold on. I'll get it for you."

A couple of strokes of his oar brought him closer. Dick used his own oar to bring Elle's near enough that he could safely pluck it out of the water. He lay both oars across the canoe's edges.

"I would have thought that you would be more . . . oh, I don't know, sea-worthy? You know, being Aquaman's cousin, and all." He opined with an almost straight face.

Elle's gasped in mock outrage. "Oh! No, you did _not_ just go there!"

Dick laughed outright. Elle's laughter quickly followed.

"So, are your parents still with the circus? What did they say about you wanting to leave," she asked. "Were they upset with you?"

Dick sobered. Discomfort crossed his features as he took a turn admiring nature. It was obvious, even to the camera, that he wasn't seeing the beauty surrounding him.

"Dick?" Elle's voice was soft now, hesitant. "Did I say something wrong?"

He sighed, casting her a sad smile. "No," he said. "My parents were killed when their trapeze wires broke." Keep it simple, he thought. No details.

Her breath caught. "Oh, my God! Oh no! Dick, I'm so sorry. I didn't know!" There were tears in her voice as she spoke, and the camera wobbled just a bit.

He looked surprised at her extreme reaction. "Hey, it's okay. It was hard at the time, but it was . . . years ago." Although there were times when it still felt like yesterday; when the pain was still as sharp and as strong as it had been at the time.

"H-how old were you," she asked, her voice soft and small.

He blew out a breath. "I was eight."

A sob shook the picture. "Eight? But, y-you were just a little boy!"

The picture swung out of focus as Dick pulled her carefully into his arms for a hug. The camera buzzed as it fought to find an image for a minute. Elle's sniffles could be heard over the sound of the oars bumping and birdsong.

"You are taking this far harder than I am," Dick spoke gently.

"I'm sorry," came Elle's watery laugh. Dick came back into focus as Elle sat back on her seat. "I understand, though, the loss of a parent," she admitted, reluctantly.

Dick frowned, tilting his head in inquiry, but kept silent.

"I, um, I lost my mother just after my seventh birthday," she whispered.

Dick's expression changed immediately to one of sympathy, and he reached for one of her hands.

"It was a car . . . accident," she admitted, not wanting to go into details either.

"I'm sorry," he said, simply.

Elle drew in a deep breath, and laughed. "This is not how this day was supposed to go."

Dick smiled. "You are absolutely right about that," he agreed.

"I've been having a great time so far. I suggest we change the topic to a happier one," she announced, handing him back the camera and snatching up her oar.

It was tricky, making her way back to the front of the canoe without taking a header into the lake or losing her oar again, but she eventually settled back onto the bench. Dick was grinning behind the camera, enjoying the show. He sat the camera back on the bench, and picked up his own oar as she began to paddle once more.

They spent another pleasant hour talking about favorite music, movies, books, and restaurants. She discovered that he loved seafood, but she did not; preferring land mammals to munch on. They enjoyed similar tastes in music, which was eclectic to say the least. Dick was pleased to find that she loved action/adventure movies. And on it went until they were pulling up once more to the pier.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this relaxed and lighthearted in anyone's company, even Babs . . . and part of him felt a flash of guilt over that. He had loved Barbara enough to marry her, and a tiny portion of him felt as though he were betraying that love by enjoying another woman's company above hers. But with Elle, he actually felt peaceful . . . happy. She could make even the most mundane topics seem humorous, and he didn't doubt for a minute that even a subject like laundry would make for a fascinating discussion as long as he held it with her.

* * *

><p>After the pier guy tied up the canoe, Dick handed him the camera. "Hold this for me, will you" he asked.<p>

"It's still filming," Elle instructed, "so could you keep it trained on the action, please?"

If the pier guy looked a little uncomfortable as he took the proffered camera, he was still careful to follow Elle's orders. "Uh, sure," he agreed, obediently turning the camera back on the couple.

Dick slid both oars onto the dock, and deftly hauled himself up the three feet to the dock's surface; ignoring the ladder in place to help folks up. He turned to watch Elle clamber over the canoe's middle seat. He carefully kept his grin in check. The grace she exhibited on stage was nowhere in evidence now. The boat wobbled ominously. He moved closer in order to help steady her as she reached for the ladder. Events happened lightening fast after that.

Elle stepped onto the seat in order to give herself a boost up. Unbalanced, the canoe dipped and flipped. Before he could think of what he should do, instinct and reflexes kicked in, and Dick grabbed the first thing he could reach. Suddenly, Elle was dangling several feet above the dark water of the lake; held suspended only by Dick's fist clutching her shirt. Elle gaped at him, blinking owlishly; her hands clutching his wrist.

"Wow," She gushed, breaking into a huge grin. "That was amazing! You have the most incredible reflexes . . ."

Dick cringed, as other reflexes he had developed to protect his Nightwing identity kicked to the fore, followed by a large . . .

_**SPLASH!**_

_Oh shit_, he thought, gasping. _I just freaking dropped her! What the hell . . .?_

Elle's head broke the surface, her dark hair plastered to her skull and covering half of her face.

Gasp! "You . . . you!" She slid beneath the surface again, only to come up coughing. "You dropped . . . _cough_!" She dipped below the surface once more.

Dick kneeled down, reaching a hand out for her to grab when she came back up for air. As he waited, the ripples in the water began to smooth. His eyes widened as he searched the murky depths for any sign of her.

"Elle," he yelled. "Oh, my God! Where is she? Do you see her?"

The pier guy was just as stunned apparently as Dick. The camera's angle shifted only slightly as the man holding it moved closer to the edge of the dock to help search the lake water. "I don't see her. I don't get it," he wailed. "She said she was Aquaman's cousin! I thought she could swim, you know?"

_How long had she been under_?

Dick jumped to his feet, kicking off his shoes, and dived into the water. He was under for several long seconds before resurfacing. His eyes searched the area under the pier in the hopes that she had come up under there, but there was no sign of her. He dived beneath the water again, his feet kicking hard to push him down further into its depths. He couldn't see more than a few inches in front of his face, and the deeper he dived, the darker it became. His hands flailed about in a desperate effort to find her, grab her, and drag her back to the surface and life-giving air. He wasn't sure how long he'd been under, but it wasn't until his lungs began burning that he allowed himself to surface long enough to catch his breath.

"Elle," he gasped. Panic was making his limbs heavy. _No_! He couldn't give in to panic! Elle would die if he couldn't find her within the next couple of minutes!

Dick pushed that thought aside violently. He had just discovered her! Both his heart and his head told him that she was something special. He couldn't lose her yet! In the heat of the moment, it didn't occur to him that that particular feeling, that those particular thoughts, were coming far too soon based upon an acquaintance of just a few, short days. Desperately, he dived again.

His hand found the bottom; mud stirring up to diminish his vision even more. He felt his way around the reeds; found the posts to the pier above him; found the bottom of the canoe they had just exited. He found a can; a sign; for one heartwrenching second, he had exulted in the discovery of an old shoe. Just not Elle! Not a touch of clothing; not a hand or a foot; not even a wisp of her hair . . .

She was just . . . gone!

* * *

><p>The video picture wobbled as it witnessed the boyfriend's frantic search. He was under so long himself that to an observer, such as the one currently filming, one began to worry that both members of the couple were in danger of drowning.<p>

Water sloshing, bird cries, and the harsh breaths of the guy holding the camera was all that could be heard between the occasional noise of the boyfriend's desperate gasps before he disappeared beneath the surface of the water for a third time. How long had she been under? Dangerously long, and it felt like an eternity . . . He had worked here practically his whole life, and he had never before seen someone drown. He should have made her wear the damned life vest! But she had been so pretty, and her voice had been like music . . . She had seemed so sure of herself.

Splashing and a light vibration of the dock, had the pier guy turning to see who was coming to help. The camera view swung around, at first not finding anybody, and then, a hand grabbed the rail beside the ladder several yards to the rear of the dock. Another hand appeared on the opposite rail. A familiar female figure made her way onto the dock, wet clothes plastered obscenely against her body; her long, dark hair dripping rivulets of lake water onto the boards. She wiped a hand over her face, pushing her hair back.

"Y-you're alive! You're not d-drowned," came pier guy's shocked voice from behind the camera.

The girlfriend gave him the kind of look that had made him feel the need to question his own intelligence ratio as she sloshed her way toward the end of the dock.

"Keep filming," she ordered, when he allowed the camera to drop. "Trust me, you aren't going to want to miss this," she said as she swept past him.

She stood, feet apart and arms akimbo, dripping as she waited for her boyfriend to resurface. She didn't appear to be any the worse for wear, but neither did she appear to be especially amused by her recent dunking. Wild-eyed, pier guy gulped and continued filming.

It didn't take long before the boyfriend to break the surface in order to take another gasping breath. Luckily, he glanced up before turning to dive again. His eyes widened; relief and joy evident in his features.

"Oh, thank God," he gasped. "Elle! How . . .? I thought you were . . ." he couldn't make himself finish that particular sentence. "Are you alright?"

The avenging angel seemed to soften slightly at the sight of his relief, but not enough to get him completely off the hook. She leaned slightly forward as if to give greater weight to her words.

"You dropped me," she accused.

The pier guy, caught up in the drama, swung the camera down towards the boyfriend, currently treading water directly beneath the sopping woman. He seemed to come to an immediate understanding as his expression morphed from relief to embarrassment and dismay.

"Oh, uh . . .," he stammered for a moment. "It . . . it was an accident?"

The woman's eyes narrowed dangerously, and her lips tightened. "An accident?"

"You slipped . . .," he clarified, "out of my grasp."

"Seriously," she asked, apparently unimpressed. "That's the story you want to go with right now?"

The man in the water gulped audibly, nodding. "Yes? I . . . uh, yes. Definitely, yes."

The girlfriend pursed her lips in thought. After a minute, one side quirked up into a half smile. The boyfriend, sensing that the danger had passed, reached up to the edge of the pier; pulling himself out of the water.

As his waist pulled even with the pier, the woman's foot met his forehead, causing the man to halt his progress. Their eyes met for a meaningful instant.

"Whoops! I'm so sorry. My foot slipped," she cooed, and then deliberately shoved him back into the lake with a resounding splash. She kneeled on one knee, grinning, as she waited for him to resurface.

"Okay," he admitted upon emerging. "I may have deserved that."

His hands reached for the dock's edge again, and this time he pulled himself up quickly. Her eyes went wide in surprise as one of his hands grabbed the front of her flannel shirt again as fleetingly his lips met hers. He let himself fall backward into the water; his girlfriend barely having time to yelp before being tossed over his head, and into the lake headfirst.

This time, both parties materialized within seconds, laughing at each other. The woman splashed him as he grinned at her.

"Hey," he protested. "I'll remind you that I jumped into a freezing lake to save your ass!"

"My ass didn't need saving," she told him, smugly. "My ass can swim very, _very_ well, thank you; as can the rest of me!"

"Aquaman's cousin?"

She grinned. "Exactly! And let's face it, you like my ass, and that's why you tried to save it," she announced with a smirk, before swimming back to the dock ladder.

The two men watched as she cut smoothly through the water. He glanced up toward the guy holding the camera. "She's got that right," he said, "It is, without a doubt, an ass worthy of saving."

"Uh, sir? You're going to have to come out of the water now," the pier guy's voice floated from behind the camera's view, hesitantly. "There's no swimming allowed here."

The grinning man moved to follow his date's path through the chilled water.

* * *

><p>Arabella was still dripping despite being wrapped up in one of the rough blankets the boat rental place had loaned them, when Dick pulled up to the front of her upscale, tenement apartment building. As there was no close parking spots, Dick remained double parked near the entrance so that she wouldn't have to walk far in the cold breeze. The weather had taken a cold turn from the balmy breezes of the early afternoon; the temperature dropping even more with the fading light.<p>

Elle turned to him, smiling despite the soggy ending of their date. His eyes were drawn to a bead a water that had slithered down from her hairline and now dangled alluringly from the tip of her red nose. Before he thought about it, one finger came up to catch that droplet. Her nose crunched adorably at his action.

"I'm sorry that I dropped you," he began, apologizing for the tenth time since they climbed out of the lake. "I promise that it will never happen again."

Her hand slid out from beneath the blanket to cup his face. He couldn't resist leaning into it. "You don't have to apologize," she told him. "I'm Aquaman's cousin, remember? I love to swim."

Dick blinked at her easy-going manner and good humor. Her eyes were warm, and gentle, filled with happiness and something . . . else. But there was no sign of recrimination to be found. He was, frankly, astonished. Somewhere inside of him, he had been mourning the end of what had promised to be something very special. Most women would have not taken being unceremoniously dropped onto murky, stinking, _freezing_, lake water well. _Most_ women would have angrily demanded to be taken home before telling him to, well . . . to go jump in the lake.

"You are . . . amazing," he whispered.

She snorted, inelegantly. "No, I am wet," she teased him. "And so are you. But I thank you for the complement."

He smiled, gazing into her warm brown eyes. "I don't suppose you would be interested in . . ."

"Yes," she interrupted him. "Yes, I would."

He grinned. "You don't even know what I was planning to say."

"It doesn't matter," she assured him. "If it is with you, then I'm interested."

He was speechless. He was never speechless . . . and yet he found that he had been exactly that several times during the course of the day. And he had enjoyed every second of it. _Well_, he clarified, _every second he hadn't thought she were drowning, anyway_.

Darting in the last couple of inches that separated them, Elle kissed him. The world seemed to fade away as the warmth of her lips seeped into his body; into his heart. If Dick had ever been cold, he could no longer remember it.

The kiss ended far too soon. She touched her forehead to his, smiling at him. "Thank you for today. I enjoyed myself.

"Except for the dunking at the end?"

"_Including_ the dunking at the end," she reassured him. "It made a wonderful day that much more memorable."

He laughed. "I'll bet."

"As if I could have forgotten even a minute of the best date ever," she held up her video camera.

A car horn beeped behind them. Dick put down the window to wave them around as Elle opened her door.

"Oh, I should have gotten that for you," he groused, cross with himself. Alfred would have been appalled, he was certain.

"No," she assured him. "I'm sure I can manage this time." She turned to get out of the car, but turned back at the last minute. "Will you . . . um, I mean, will I be seeing you again this Thursday?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he said. "And . . . If you want . . . ah, maybe tomorrow? For dinner? I figure as long as we stay away from water, we'll be safe."

The smile she graced him with was brilliant. "Absolutely."

Dick watched her enter her building through the double glass doors; stopping to speak briefly to the security guard manning the front desk before entering the elevator at the back of the lobby. Just before the doors slid closed, she turned and saw him watching her. She smiled, waving her fingers from the edge of the blanket as the elevator doors slid shut.

Another horn blared, and Dick pulled out into traffic. This had been the most interesting date he had ever been on in . . . his brow creased, like – ever! He shivered as yet more cold, lake water dripped down the back of his neck. On a scale of one to ten, he tried to place it amongst his memories of every other date he could recall . . . After several moments in thought, his face cleared, and he decided that Elle was right. It had been the best date ever!


	4. Misery Loves Company

Misery Loves Company

Dick opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. The early afternoon sun felt more like a knife piercing his forehead and stabbing at his brain unmercifully. He had started feeling less than great last night before he went out on patrol, and had practically crawled home less than four hours later with a low-grade fever and the worst sore throat he thought he had ever had. He hadn't managed to accomplish more than stopping one would-be-mugger. He had taken the last of last season's cold medicine which had put him out like a light, but he could tell upon awakening that his fever was back with a vengeance.

Poor Elle was likely just as miserable as he was at this moment. October probably wasn't the best time to go for a swim, however unintentional it was. After his panic that he had let his date drown the first time they had gone out, he had actually forgotten the cold water and chilly breeze enough to truly enjoy himself. She had certainly surprised him, by taking her dunking so well. Sure she had pretended to be annoyed with him initially, but they had both climbed out of the lake dripping and laughing uproariously. She had merely squeezed the excess water out of her hair and shirt, and squished her way back to the car with amazing fortitude and a bevy of teasing comments. He couldn't think of one other woman of his acquaintance that would have not been furious with him for dropping her into the freezing October lake, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she had.

Dick rolled out of bed, and immediately weakness drove him to the floor on his knees. His stomach roiled ominously. Saliva flooded his mouth. Desperate, Dick dove toward the trash can, barely reaching it before what little contents his stomach hit the receptacle, taking what felt was left of the lining of his throat with it.

It must have taken a year to get back to his bed after a necessary trip to the bathroom. It felt like it had taken a month just to gain the strength necessary to roll off of his stomach and into a fetal pose. He stared hopelessly across the ten mile expanse between him and the phone on his nightstand. He wondered how long it would take for someone to discover his dead, decomposing body . . . What he wouldn't give to have Alfred here. Alfred always knew what to do to help him feel better.

Jagged pain lanced through his head a few minutes later when his cell phone rang. It was somewhere in the living room, he thought. It might as well have been on Mars. He pulled his pillow over his head and ignored it. Five minutes later his landline jangled. He looked across the bed to where it mocked him from its position of safety in its cradle. He squinted at the number that lit up its little screen. 555-7277 . . . It looked familiar. Whose number was it?

Suddenly, he remembered. Elle! Elle was calling him!

He didn't believe anyone else in the world could have convinced him to attempt the distance. He lunged, and nearly cried when he fell inches short. How many times had it rang? He gathered his remaining strength to cross the last few inches. His hands shook hard enough that it took him three tries to hit the talk button.

"Elle?" He croaked. Was that his voice?

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

Elle had gone against her grandmother's advice to call Dick, but she hadn't a choice now. They had planned to go to dinner tonight. Unfortunately, Brian had just called to ask her to sub for Randi this evening. Randi sang rhythm and blues on Sunday and Wednesday nights at the club. While she didn't mind filling in, usually because she had nothing else better to do; tonight Elle had had plans. But she felt bad, leaving Brian in the lurch. So, she was trying to reschedule her and Dick's date for another night.

Now, she was frowning at the phone in her hand. Dick hadn't answered his cell, so Elle had looked up his home phone. But she didn't recognize the voice (if it could even be called that) that had muttered something unintelligible when it answered.

"Um, is Dick Grayson there?" Maybe she had dialed the wrong number.

"Elle?"

Oh, that was definitely her name.

"Yes, this is Elle," she replied, hesitantly. "I-is – Is this Dick?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Elle cringed in sympathy at the pain-filled voice. He sounded like someone had sandpapered his throat raw.

"Oh, you sound terrible! What happened?"

"Sick," he croaked. "Must have been from the lake Saturday."

"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" Guilt swamped her. The poor guy . . .

"Are you feeling okay," he asked with a voice that sounded like he was gargling ground glass. "Did you get sick, too?"

"Ah, no. I'm fine," she said. "But I guess dinner's off, hmm? You sound terrible."

"Oh, damn," he groaned. "I'd forgotten about dinner. I've been a little preoccupied."

"No," she reassured him quickly. "I would have had to cancel it anyway. My boss called me in to replace another singer for tonight. That was the actual reason I called."

"Another time, then," he whispered.

Elle paused. He sounded disappointed. Was it wrong of her to feel happy about that when he was so sick? And he really did sound bad. She wondered . . . "Do you have everything you need? Do you have someone you can call for help?"

He didn't answer for so long that Elle had thought they had been disconnected. She began to worry about that when she heard him cough. It sounded like it had ripped its way out of him.

_Oh God_, she thought. _Poor, poor baby_ . . .

"It's okay," he croaked. "Just need to sleep it off."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

The groan floated through the phone.

Elle bit her lip. Being sick was miserable enough without having to suffer through it all alone. Decision made, she began to make plans.

"Dick, give me your address. I'm going to drop off some things that I think might help."

"That's so sweet," he moaned. "Don't have to, though. Don't go out of your way . . . I'll be fine." A cough tore its way out of his throat belying his words.

Elle caught her breath. "What? What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"

"M'sorry. I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I just don't want you to catch this if you've managed to avoid it so far."

She smiled. "Give me your address, Dick Grayson. Don't make me have to hunt you down."

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Elle knocked on Dick's door. Silence answered her. Uncertain, she tried the knob. Locked! Why would he leave it locked when he knew she was going to come over? . . . Unless he couldn't. Worry began to gnaw at her. He really had sounded terrible on the phone . . .<p>

Elle set the box she carried on the floor, and kneeled down. Pulling a bobby pin from her hair, she bent it into the shape she needed. She hadn't had to use this particular skill since her brother had moved out of their father's penthouse. Who knew that anything good would come out of those difficult and trying times? She wouldn't have guessed that the ability to pick a lock would ever come in handy once her fraternal nemesis had discovered his own rock to crawl under. Still, her mouth quirked as she began her task, she always made certain she was never without a few hairpins at any given time. Less than a minute later, Elle was officially guilty of breaking and entering. Tucking the evidence into her jeans pocket, she opened the door.

The shades were still drawn, and only a few slivers of afternoon sun reached the interior of the space. Her eyes were well adjusted after traversing the dim and somewhat dismal hallway. The first time in Dick's apartment, she took time to note the sparse furniture, strewn liberally with clothes, books, and various take-out boxes. Locating the kitchen on the right, she got down to business unpacking her box. Turning on a burner, she set the small stock pot she had brought with her to warming. Grabbing the pharmacy bag that contained her recent purchases, she turned toward the door that she thought must lead to the bedroom.

"Dick?" She called out his name as she swung open the door. "GAH!"

Suddenly the world spun, and the bag of medicine went flying! The breath left her lungs violently as she was slammed onto her back with a muffled thump. It took several moments for the black spots in front of her eyes to clear. The ringing in her ears, however, took considerably longer to diminish.

"Oh, my God, Elle," she finally could hear a grizzled voice exclaim. Dick's pale, concerned face slowly came into view, hovering somewhat frantically over her. "Did I kill you?"

"No," she wheezed. "It only feels that way."

Dick helped her into a sitting position. "I heard a noise moving around in the apartment. I thought someone had broken in . . . Um, I'm guessing that was you?"

A blush crept up her cheeks. "Um, yeah."

"Man, I must have been out of it when I came home last night to have left the door unlocked." Dick rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah, about that . . .," Elle muttered. "I . . . um, well . . . I did knock first."

"I must have fallen asleep. I didn't hear you knocking." He stood up, swaying slightly. He offered her his hand.

Elle was shocked by the heat coming off of him when she let him pull her to her feet. "Good Lord! You are burning up!"

She immediately took his arm and led him back to the bed. The covers were in a mess, a testament to his restless efforts to find a comfortable position. Frowning, she laid the back of her hand against his forehead.

"Do you have a thermometer?"

Dick started coughing, but managed to point in the direction of a door Elle surmised to be his bathroom. She noted the slight tremor in the limb. Adrenaline must be crashing, she thought, watching as the tremor became more of a quake. Remembering her purpose for coming, she moved quickly and located the old-fashioned, mercury thermometer on a shelf in his medicine cabinet. She was closing the door when she paused, considering what she nearly missed. There was an inordinate amount of first aid supplies in there. Rolls of tape, piles of sterilized gauze, rolls of bandages, antibiotic ointment, prescription painkillers . . . Everything, she thought, but a fever reducer and a cough syrup.

She grabbed the thermometer and moved back to her patient, thoughtful. Dick opened his mouth obediently, and she tucked the thermometer under his tongue before moving to retrieve her bag of medicines.

Why would he have so many first aid supplies, she wondered. It was obvious he was athletic. Saturday was a testament to his strength and agility, despite their both landing in the lake. Certainly someone with such an amazing physique wouldn't be riddled with injuries. She was turning around when she noted the gun in its holster on the bedside table. She nearly tripped over her feet!

A second later her eyes landed on the glittering gold badge lying next to it. _Oh_, _shoot_, she thought, understanding at last. _That's right._ _He's a cop_!

It was curious was that he would choose to care for his own work-related injuries rather than go to the emergency room. Workman's comp aside, it just made more sense to get patched up by a professional. But, then again, here he sat pathetically attempting to nurse his own illness.

Pulling the thermometer out of his mouth, she read the mercury line. 103 degrees was no minor temperature! No wonder he was so miserable! _Poor baby_ . . . She hurried to pull out the extra-strength acetaminophen as she headed back to the kitchen to search for a clean glass.

At least one of the three glasses Dick owned was clean, Elle noted, taking it down from the cabinet. She filled it with water, since the orange juice she had bought would likely burn all the way down right now. She did discover a teapot, however, and filled it up, setting on the burner next to the simmering pot. Hot tea with honey and cinnamon would go a long way to making his throat feel better.

After watching him struggle to get the pills down, Elle made him lay back down to sleep. She puttered around for a half an hour, picking up his clothes, starting a load of laundry, washing his six dirty dishes, cleaning out his refrigerator. _The man needed a maid_, she thought, then laughing, she added, _or a girlfriend_.

She went to check on him, tea in hand. He looked better, she thought. _Fever was down_. She ran her hand through his hair, and called his name softly.

"Babs," he moaned in his sleep. "I'm sorry."

_Babs_? Who is Babs? _Maybe he said Bob_, she determined. It was kind of cute that he talked in his sleep. She could have all kinds of fun with that, she snickered to herself. Not that she would take advantage of him while he was sick . . .

"Dick, wake up. I need you to drink some tea," she said. "It will make you feel better."

Blinking, Dick looked around him warily. Seeing Elle's beautiful smile, he relaxed, remembering she had come over. He sat up carefully, pleasantly surprised when he could manage it without collapsing or his muscles protesting.

"Feeling better?"

He smiled. "Yeah, actually, I am."

Elle took his temperature again, pleased to find it had dropped to a much more manageable 100 degrees. Still up, but she could work with that. She wrapped his hands around the warm mug. Steam still rose from the fragrant tea, but it had cooled enough he could drink it immediately without risk of burning his mouth. The honey sweetened tea slid down his throat, soothing the rawness that could still be felt despite the pain medication he had taken. _Mm, and cinnamon_!

"Mm, that's good stuff," he said, his voice almost normal.

'My grandmother swore by it," Elle smiled. "Have you eaten today at all?"

Remembering the mess in his trashcan, Dick cringed. "No," he admitted. "I wasn't sure I could keep anything down." He nodded sheepishly in the direction of metal bucket in the corner.

"Oh, well, that was likely because of how high your fever was," she explained. "Are you feeling nauseous right now?"

Dick did a perimeter check of his body, relieved when his stomach reported a negative on the nausea topic. "No. Just a few aches and pains, a mild headache, and the sore throat, although the tea helped a lot with that."

Elle stood up. "The headache is likely from low blood sugar. The tea will help with that, but it probably won't go away until you eat something first."

A couple of minute later, Elle returned with a mug of hot minestrone soup and a fresh, warm breadstick. "It's my great-grandmother's recipe. I whipped this up this morning after I talked with you."

The hot tea had helped clear up his sinuses enough that the delicious aroma of the soup wasn't lost on him. He boggled over the fact that she had not only cooked for him, but hadn't taken her soup and tea and left in a huff after he had flipped her onto her back earlier.

She had so easily forgiven him for that! What woman smiled at a man who had just slammed her bodily into the floor just twenty-four hours after nearly drowning . . . She was still here; still taking care of him despite all of that! It defied logic! He gazed up at her, his angel, and saw her watching him expectantly. He figured that where she might forgive him for his earlier, if unintentional abuse, she likely wouldn't if he didn't hurry up and try her soup.

"Mm, delicious," he murmured, appreciatively; thrilled he hadn't had to lie.

He ate tentatively, until he was certain his stomach wouldn't suddenly rebel, then with gusto, relishing the flavors of the soup and the soft bread. Pleased, Elle sat on the edge of his bed to watch him.

* * *

><p>Headache receding and stomach burbling happily, Dick was becoming more cognizant of the fact that his current obsession was perched next to him . . . in his bedroom . . . on his bed. Brian Donovan's words abruptly slid through his brain . . . Innocence. She didn't look innocent at that particular moment; although her silver-gray sweater and black slacks weren't exactly the sort of wardrobe a femme fatale generally wore when on the prowl. But Dick was beginning to think she could wear burlap and make it sexy.<p>

She took the dishes away, and returned with more medicine. If she wanted to poison him, Dick figured he was doomed, as he obediently swallowed whatever pills she gave him without even a glance. Elle instructed him to take a warm shower, handing him clean clothes out of the drawers she had started rummaging through. Actions that would have been the death knell of any relationship he might have had with any other woman.

He hated people pawing through his stuff . . . Probably because he worried they might find something stashed somewhere that gave away his Nightwing identity. However, Dick was fairly certain that all his Nightwing accouterments were hidden away where a casual search wouldn't find them. No matter how sick he had been last night, he wouldn't have slacked in that regard unless he had died before accomplishing the task or dropped into unconsciousness first.

Again, however, he took no offense to Elle's actions. He frowned at the thought as he rinsed the lather from his body. Could she be a supervillian whose super powers included a mesmerizing voice and gorgeous, hypnotic eyes? Turning off the shower, he toweled off wondering if Bruce's paranoia had finally rubbed off on him. He could hear the sweet sound her humming in his room.

Nervous, and curious, Dick peeked out to find her busy changing out his sheets and making his bed! Although he still felt the effects of his illness, his body had suddenly made the leap that his head had made earlier when Elle was sitting beside him.

Damn it! She was an innocent, here out of the goodness of her heart to nurse him back to health! And maybe if he continued to repeat that mantra in his head, his body would listen to him enough that he could walk out of the bathroom without embarrassing the both of them.

"Hey," Elle called out. "Are you still alive in there? I have a surprise for you."

Dick rested his forehead against the bathroom door in a mild panic. _A surprise_? He wished she hadn't said that. Now his brain was cruising through a list of possible surprises, none of which he was sure she currently considering – he sighed - unfortunately. He lightly pounded his head against the wood.

"Did you hear that," Elle asked, her voice floating in from the other room. "Was that you knocking, or . . .?"

"Uh, no," he croaked. "Probably the neighbors. The walls are kind of thin." He cringed. It wasn't a total lie . . . These apartments _did_ have thin walls.

He moved back to the mirror, using a towel to wipe away the condensation. He stared in horror at the image of him standing in just a towel. Okay, _that_ wasn't going to be an option . . . He needed more layers, he decided, turning to the clothes Elle had given him. He gaped in dismay when he held up a clean t-shirt and a pair of black boxer-briefs.

_Worse than the towel_, he wanted to wail. Why was this happening? It was like fate had handed him the perfect woman, and now was bringing about every possible event guaranteed to make her run from him screaming!

He turned the water back on in the shower. Just the cold water, that is. He needed to quit acting like he was fourteen instead of twenty-four. Whipping off the useless towel, he stepped back in under the freezing spray.

* * *

><p>Elle set the basket on the bed of freshly laundered clothes. She was surprised that his apartment had the luxury of a small, stackable washerdryer set, but nevertheless taken advantage of it. It was easier to rest and recuperate when one wasn't surrounded by all the little chores that were begging to be done. As she folded t-shirts and jeans, her eyes kept straying to the bathroom door. He had looked so good in just a wrinkly, old t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, even though he was still obviously pale and weak from being sick. How messed up was that? What was wrong with her?

Images of him in the shower, kept flitting through her mind, forcing her to constantly battle to shove them back out. The poor guy was miserable! He needed her help, not her lust . . . Okay, at least not her lust, yet! She had just met the guy! She suddenly thought that her father's decision to send her away to a private girls' school during her teen years had been a wise and fortuitous decision, if she was reacting like this now.

She moaned, disgusted with herself . . .

"Um, are you okay," came Dick's voice from behind her. He stood in the bathroom doorway, adorable worry lines creasing his forehead. "You aren't getting sick, are you? . . . because if you are, then I am the absolute worst boyfriend on the entire face of the planet."

Her heart skipped a beat. He called himself my "boyfriend"? It was such a high school thing to do, and she felt a little silly for getting all excited over an adolescent title, but . . . he called himself my "_boyfriend_"! She felt her face getting hot in a combination of embarrassment and excitement.

"Your face is flushed," he accused. "Damn it! God, Elle, I'm sorry. How are you still here? You must be thinking I'm some kind of walking plague or bad luck charm! I've only wanted spend time with you and get to know you, and all I have managed to do is hurt you . . . All in the space of four days! At this rate, you'll be lucky to survive the week!"

Elle, realizing his train of thought, suddenly burst out laughing. If he had any idea what all was really going through her mind . . . Well, she didn't want to go back in that direction.

He frowned at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she assured him. "It was nothing. I am not scared of you, you know," Elle insisted. "Everything that has happened has been an accident or my own fault. In fact, you may have been getting the worse end of the deal, all considering."

Dick mouth pursed as he mused that idea over. He didn't agree that his slamming her into the floor was her fault, but he had been feeling rather like death just a couple of hours ago, and now, well, not so much. "So," he wondered aloud. "How did you manage to avoid getting sick after the lake?"

A slow grin made its way across her face; her eyes twinkling with some private jest. "Since when have you ever heard of Aquaman catching a cold?"

Dick gaped at her a moment, then frowned, and then . . . grinned. "Point taken."

In her head, Elle giggled silently. He was going to be running her family legend through his mind over and over again, wondering if any of it was truth, and whether or not he was dating a mermaid three times removed. She hadn't meant to bring up that old story again, but now that he knew it, Elle decided to have as much fun with it as she could.

Dick had a wonderful sense of humor, but it was probably not nearly as warped as hers. He had been walking around, looking like someone had smacked him in the forehead with a two-by-four for the past four days. He wasn't used to her yet. It made her wonder about the relationships he had had in the past; what those women had been like, and why did she feel a little sad for him because of it. Her mother and grandmother had both insisted that it was a woman's job to bring peace, romance, and fun into her man's life. Perhaps they had been old-fashioned, as that reporter had claimed, but her father still pined for his lost love, and her grandparents have been happily married for nearly fifty years.

Elle shook herself. It didn't matter about those faceless women, she decided. They obviously weren't here now, and that was their loss. She knew that they hadn't been capable of giving Dick what he needed, or else he wouldn't have been coming week after week to listen to her sing. She didn't know him well enough yet, but she would . . . She enjoyed her time with him. He was turning out to be worth all the headache of having to be indebted to her father again. She would do her best to make sure that Dick would never regret sending her that card requesting her company for coffee after her show. He would never regret _her_!

"Um, so," Dick brought her out of her thoughts. "What's that surprise you were talking about earlier?"

Elle grinned. Time for some peace, and perhaps a little bit of fun . . .

* * *

><p>"Do you want me to stop by after I get off work tonight?"<p>

Dick watched Elle gathering her things. He nodded, unable to speak with the thermometer still in his mouth. She moved back to the bed and pulled it out to read it.

"Very good," she said. "99 degrees is much better that the 103 degrees that you had when I first arrived. I'm leaving the medicines right here by the bed. You're due for another dose in about an hour, so don't forget or you'll be regretting it. Now, do you need anything else before I go?"

He was feeling so much better now, he almost could forget he was still ill. "No, nothing else," he sighed. "I kind of wish you didn't have to go, though."

Elle smiled gently; her hand pushing the hair off of his forehead. "I wish I didn't either, but I promised."

"That's okay," he murmured, enjoying the feeling of her cool hand on him. "Mustn't break promises."

"You never answered my question."

"About what? Oh," he remembered. "I'll be okay tonight. You worked all day, and now tonight as well. You should go home tonight and get some sleep."

"I'll call you in the morning when I wake up, to see how you are doing then," she told him. "I can swing by tomorrow if you get worse or need something else."

"Elle?"

"Hmm?" She stood up to leave, but turned back to the figure on the bed. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," he reassured her. "I just . . . I just wanted to thank you. For everything. Especially for my surprise. Now, _that _was remarkable," he grinned.

He'd never suspected that Elle knew how to give a deep-tissue massage. His aching muscles had turned to liquid under her talented hands. She had played a CD of her own music during the massage, and between listening to her singing and the relief from his aches and pains, Dick had fallen into a deep sleep that had lasted most of the afternoon, only to awake feeling marvelous for the first time in almost twenty-four hours.

She had still been here, although he wasn't sure what she had done with herself in the meantime. She had finished straightening and dusting his bedroom, he could tell, but Dick hoped she hadn't spent all her time cleaning up for him. Her first time here, and he knew the place was a wreck. It was embarrassing. Never the best housekeeper, thanks in part to Alfred always picking up his messes behind him while living at the manor, it was the first time it had actually bothered him when a guest saw it.

"I'm just glad you're feeling so much better," she said as she gathered up her jacket and bag. "I left you the rest of the soup in the fridge. You can heat it up if you get hungry. There is tea and honey in your cupboard now if your sore throat returns. Try to drink some orange juice in the meantime."

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked. "Promise you'll be careful leaving the club tonight. Make Donovan walk you to your car."

"I'll be careful," she promised. "I'll be taking a cab home, anyway. Later, 'gator!" She waved, and slipped out of the door.

Dick listened to her leaving. He still felt great, but a small hollow place opened up at the sound of his apartment door closing. He missed her. She hadn't even made it to the stairs yet, and he missed her. But she had promised to call him tomorrow, didn't she? He smiled and relaxed, the hollow place filling up with warmth at the simple remembrance of her promise.

He looked over at the medicine she had left for him to take. _She's like a drug_, he mused. _Just two days with her, and already I'm addicted_.


	5. Crime-Fighting Fairy

Crime Fighting Fairy

As he looked out over the Gotham skyline, Batman found his eyes and thoughts straying yet again toward the river, and the neighboring city just beyond. Bludhaven. For months it had eaten at him, that defeated look in Dick's eyes after he and Barbara called it quits yet again. He hated seeing his son hurt, and no one seemed more capable of inflicting pain than Barbara Gordon.

He had respected the ability of the woman to wear the bat well, and after she had lost her legs to the Joker's bullet, he had continued to be impressed with her ingenuity as well as her stubborn refusal to give up. Known as Oracle now, she continued to fight crime in a different venue. He considered her a powerful ally . . . But a silent part of him despised that she also had the power to shred his son's heart on a whim. He couldn't tell Dick that he secretly cheered when he had announced their breakup. He had, at the time, prayed that this time would be the end of it – permanently; not that he would have been able to tell his son as much. At least, not without risking losing him again. After suffering through the past few of years without him, it wasn't something Bruce or Batman was willing to do.

Now, after watching, not only Dick, but Nightwing suffer for an idle, petty, power trip the woman had been on for three-quarters of the past year, he was unsure that the Barbara wasn't a necessary evil for Dick's happiness. He hoped the hell not, but it was beginning to appear that his hope was a hollow thing. These past few weeks were worse than usual for the simple fact that he hadn't heard from the boy . . . Man! Dick was a man now. It was nearly three weeks since the last phone call; four since he had last seen him. Two weeks had been the longest length of non-communication they had gone through since he and his eldest had patched their differences up. Usually they would speak two or even three times a week. He was getting seriously concerned now, worried that the funk his son had been in for so long had progressed into actual depression.

"Have you heard from him?"

Batman looked over at Red Robin. It was a testament to his level of distraction that he hadn't heard Tim's approach until after he had already managed to cross half the distance of the building's rooftop. Unacceptable. He needed to focus or he might as well head back to the cave, else some wise-ass punk might get lucky enough to put a bullet in him.

"I take it from your question that you haven't heard from him either," Batman muttered.

He didn't like this. It was one thing for Dick to ignore him. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he had angered the younger man at some point during his last visit, although if he had, he had been completely unaware of it. But, it was totally out of character for him to ignore his younger brothers. The fuss that Damian had been making earlier in the evening had assured Batman that the boy hadn't heard from Dick either.

"No, and I have to tell you that I don't like it." Red Robin's eyes swept the streets below, looking for trouble automatically, although he was nearly as distracted by the current familial issue as his father. "He hasn't been this incommunicado since last year."

Batman nodded. "But even then, _you_ would hear from him occasionally."

Damian was still new. The boy had come to his care from his mother, Talia al Ghul, almost a year before, shortly after he and Dick had ended their long estrangement. But in that time, the boy had forged a unique relationship with his eldest brother that was making this recent silence as difficult for him as it was for the rest of the family. And it was unusual for Dick to not take Damian's need for attention into account.

"Are you thinking this is about Oracle? Or could this be more serious than that?"

Batman glanced at his companion, his face grimmer than usual. "I begin to think that this thing with Oracle is becoming more worrisome than Bludhaven's current gang problem."

This earned him a look from Red Robin. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, if _we_ are this distracted, being on the outside; how much more distracted must Nightwing be? Bludhaven is far better crime-wise than it was before Nightwing moved in, but it still is far more dangerous at night than is Gotham."

"You think that he's going to be less cautious than usual, don't you? That his distraction by his and Oracle's relationship problems will get him hurt . . ."

" . . . Or killed." Batman hated thinking about that. He just got his son back after nearly three long years of living in hell without him. He couldn't stand the idea that he could lose Dick to a moment of inattention, all because his son couldn't move past his heartbreak.

A crackle over his comm-link alerted him to a robbery in progress on the police band, interrupting thoughts better left to daylight hours. Fifth and Emerson was just a few blocks away. According to what he was hearing, the police were still ten minutes out.

"Did you catch that," Red Robin asked, turning to face the direction of the ongoing robbery.

Batman was already in motion, pulling out his grapple as he ran across the roof. He felt more than heard Red Robin moving up to pace him. They leapt off the building edge together.

* * *

><p>Red Robin landed on the sidewalk outside the jewelry store just seconds behind Batman. The store front was dark, and no movement could be seen from outside. The metal grating that normally covered the storefront during closing hours had been cut with what must have been some heavy duty bolt cutters, and pushed up out of the way. The glass door was broken and propped open with a brick.<p>

Had the thieves already gone?

Batman placed a finger on his lips. Unnecessarily, thought Tim, but he kept his mouth shut and followed his mentor into the darkened store.

The darkness wasn't total, the light from the street penetrating part the way into the store. Glass from the door crunched underfoot, sounding loud in the silent building. Red Robin frowned. Shouldn't the alarm still be blaring? Or did it have a silent alarm? He and Batman had reached the store within ninety seconds after hearing the alert. How could the thieves have had times to break in, turn off the alarm, rob the store, and escape without detection in little more than two minutes? It didn't seem possible, unless maybe something scared them off before they started.

Something crunched under his boot than wasn't glass. Tim kneeled down. _What is that_? _A pearl_? It was white, whatever it was. He picked it off the floor and shined a light on it. _I-it's_ _a tooth_!

"Red Robin, I don't think our robbers managed to escape after all." Batman's voice came from the back.

Walking to the back room, he saw three hooded men unconscious and tied up, sitting back-to-back in the middle of the room. One of the men was bleeding from the mouth; his jaw swollen. The mystery of the tooth was solved. Red Robin moved up to the trio, carefully tucking the tooth into the bleeding man's shirt pocket. There was some visible damage to the room they were in, but not so much as he might have expected when one considered the sort of fight that would be necessary in order to leave three grown men in this condition. And apparently, Batman agreed with his assessment.

"Whoever took them down was fast," Batman commented. "I suspect he caught them in the act, and surprised them."

"Do you have any idea who could have done this, and left without leaving a clue," Red Robin asked.

Batman looked thoughtful for a second. "I have my suspicions. I only know a few people in Gotham capable of this, and two of them are here."

"He had to have been incredibly fast to have accomplished all this and leave without us running into him," Red robin postulated.

"Not necessarily so. You didn't notice the security keypad by the door when we came in? The thieves had disabled the alarm before they even entered the place." Batman walked back out to the front. The thieves weren't going anywhere, except maybe to the emergency room before they were booked and tossed into a cell. Sirens could be heard in the not so distance and were closing fast.

"But it was the alarm that alerted the police, and us."

"True. So, think about it again."

"Unless Flash was cruising by without telling us he was in the vicinity," Red Robin mused. "Someone must have taken these guys out at his leisure, and then set off the silent alarm on his way out the door? That would make sense."

The police had arrived. They entered the establishment cautiously until their eyes adjusted to the gloom enough to make out the Caped Crusader and Red Robin milling around at the rear of the showroom.

The first officer smiled, lowering his weapon. "Batman, Red Robin," he greeted them. "One of these days, we are going to beat you to a crime. It would be interesting to watch you walk in after the fact for once."

Batman nodded to the officer. In the shadows still, Batman recognized the voice and build of the man to belong to Officer Dillon Scott. Still a young officer, not long out of the police academy, he remembered. Batman had met him at several crime scenes over the past couple of years. He had noted him because Commissioner Gordon had told him after one meeting that he had graduated Gotham's police academy the same year that Dick had graduated from Bludhaven's academy. The young officer didn't seem afraid of him at all, and the only reason that Batman didn't consider that a problem was the rather intense amount of awe and hero-worship that stood in its place in the man's eyes.

"That would be an enjoyable turn of events, indeed, Officer Scott," Batman growled. "Your perpetrators are in the back."

Red Robin stepped aside to allow Scott and several officers through. He followed Batman to the street. It wasn't until they were standing on the roof of the neighboring building that Tim felt free to talk again.

"You allowed the police to believe that we nailed the crooks." It was a statement of fact. He looked to his mentor.

"Whoever our hero is, he or she didn't leave any clues to his or her identity. He didn't want credit. As I don't believe anything was taken, you saw the bag full of jewels sitting in the middle of the table; I saw no reason to waste the night with answering questions and raising speculations that would be better served by returning to patrol." Batman explained. "I doubt our hero is ready to hang up his cape at this early hour. Perhaps we may run into him yet tonight."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Red Robin and Batman had returned to the roof where they had begun their night; staring once more across the river into Bludhaven. They had run across three other busted crimes over the course of their patrol. Like the jewelry store robbery, the perpetrators were unconscious and zip-tied at the spot of their crimes; their victims or bounty sitting and awaiting the authorities just as pretty as you please. Even the statements of the witnesses or victims had been garble-headed enough that the hero could have been nearly anyone in a mask.<p>

"You know," Red Robin muttered, disgusted with the night's work. "I could have taken the night off, and finished a paper for my political science class."

"Watch what you say," Batman warned.

No references to civilian life while on patrol, no matter that they were the only humans for blocks that were awake, let alone out on such a cold night. The wind was picking up, fluttering Red Robin's cape behind him, though not so Batman's. The wind had a difficult time creating a ripple in the heavy leather that made up Batman's current cape.

"Sorry," he said. "So, have you determined who our hero is?"

"The only obvious ones that it could be would be Red Hood, although that seems highly unlikely as he seldom leaves his territory, and when he does, he usually doesn't bother stepping in to stop a crime in mine . . . Or Robin, who would have to be out without permission." _Damian_. It was Wednesday night, and Robin wasn't allowed to patrol on a school night.

Red Robin smirked. "This sounds like something the demon-child would do."

"It is a good thing that said child isn't in hearing of your name calling."

Red Robin darted a look, but Batman's lips remained in the same grim line as always. Had his father's remark been a rebuke, those lips would have tightened and lost their color. It told Tim that the name itself didn't bother him so much as the reaction to it by its intended recipient did. Not a rebuke then, so much as a warning to watch who was around to overhear him; particularly if that person were Damian himself.

"While I wouldn't put it past him, Robin's been skating on thin ice for the past week. I doubt he would be stupid enough to risk being grounded from his weekend patrol for a mid-week joyride through Gotham's criminal sector."

Red Robin tilted his head as he thought about that. "If he thought he could get away with it, I certainly wouldn't put it past him. You said you didn't find clues as to who this guy . . . or girl, could be, right?"

"Mm, and _that_ might be our biggest clue."

"So, you _do_ have some ideas on who it might be?"

Batman straightened his shoulders, and turned to make his way to where he had parked the batmobile. "Do you want to come home tonight?"

_So, you're going to play this hand close to your chest, eh_? Red Robin looked in the direction of where he had hidden his bike. He was tempted. Alfred's breakfasts were always the best.

"I should head back. I still have that po . . . uh, paper due." The regret was there in his voice, however. His mouth started watering. He wondered what he had in his refrigerator. Bologna and frozen pizza. There was cereal, but his milk had smelled a little off yesterday morning. "But if you're willing to talk me into it, I can always come by in the morning."

"I know someone who would love to see you," Batman paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "If you have no plans, come by for breakfast. Bring your stuff with you. You can borrow the study, if you like."

"Will you be there?"

"For breakfast."

"You should play some hooky. My stuff won't take me long. Might be fun to just hang out for a while."

"It just might . . ." Batman's lip quirked.

Red Robin grinned. "See you later, then," he said, but Batman was already gone.

He took his time making his way back to his bike. They were ending the night early. _Might as well_, he thought, _since our crime-fighting fairy seems to have taken care of everything for us tonight_. That still bothered him; the not knowing. It had bothered the Batman, too, although Tim suspected that his mentor had some other person in mind when he had left. Maybe after a good night's sleep and one of Alfred's award-winning breakfasts, they could take some time to consider their hero's identity.

_Even the demon-child might be able to give us some helpful input_, Red Robin added, generously.

He pulled his bike out from behind an overloaded trash receptacle where he had stashed it earlier. Visions of bacon and omelets dancing in his head, Red Robin turned his bike in the direction of his apartment, looking forward to his next meal.


	6. The Raw Deal

The Raw Deal

Elle picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart. Her father had been in Europe for the past couple of weeks. She hadn't been able to talk to him yet about the potential interview for Maria Sanchez. Ms. Sanchez had done her one better by not only giving her the original copy of the tape of her serenade, but also placed a copy onto a thumbnail drive as well. The least she could do was talk to her father as soon as he was available.

His secretary had assured her he had arrived back in Chicago two days ago. He had a day to recover first, so he was sure to be in the office today. The call would go through on his direct line, so unless he was out of his office for a meeting or something . . .

"Hamilton," was the short, clipped answer.

"Hello, Poppa," Elle began. "How was your trip?"

"Arabella, my love," Cedric's tone warmed up immediately. "What a surprise, sweetheart! I don't suppose you are back in town, hm?"

"No, Poppa. I'm still in Bludhaven," Elle sighed. "You didn't answer my question. How was your trip? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Business is business, darling child," he murmured. "It feels as though you have dropped off the face of the earth, however. You do not call your father nearly enough. I would have enjoyed this trip had you joined me, though. It would have been like old times."

"I have been to Brussels many times," she reminded him. "Besides, you would have spent all day in meetings. I wouldn't have seen you at all."

"It was not all meetings, you know, Bella," he teased. "There were dinners, and I went to the theatre while I was there. You would have kept busy with shopping and the museums as well. I would have arranged for you tours . . ."

Elle rolled her eyes. "I have done all of that many times, Poppa. I called you for a reason, though." _Might as well get this over with_, she thought, _before Poppa starts pressuring me to forget about my dreams and move back home_.

"Indeed," he sounded surprised. "What reason do I thank for having my beloved daughter call me?"

Elle grimaced. Guilt trip, much? "I have made a . . . friend, Poppa." Well, Maria Sanchez couldn't exactly be called a friend, but she really didn't want to get into the real reason why she was asking him for this favor.

"A friend?" Cedric's voice grew more curious as well as more cautious. "What is this friend's name, pray tell?"

"_Her_ name is Maria Sanchez," Elle placed heavy emphasis on the feminine pronoun. "And she's a reporter."

"Haven't I told you, Bella, that reporters are scavengers; never friends," he chided.

"Poppa," she said, a warning in her voice. "I am not a child. I am perfectly capable of making my own friends."

"And what did this reporter friend of yours ask of you in payment for her friendship," Cedric asked, knowingly.

Elle wanted to hang up. Everything had a price for Cedric Hamilton. She was walking directly into this knowing that her father would be judging her as a naïve, little fool, and taking it as proof that she was incapable of running her own life. He was constantly worrying that she would forever be taken advantage of by the wolves of the world. But she refused to give him the true reason behind this favor. The last thing she wanted was for her father to know about Dick Grayson. Not yet . . .

"It isn't a payment for her friendship." That much was true, anyway, since they weren't actually friends. "Her boss was bugging her about bringing in something that was truly newsworthy. I was the one who suggested that I might be able to swing a possible interview with you."

Elle hated lying, but this was one she considered necessary. She would need to let Ms. Sanchez know the back story before she let anything important slip when her father grilled her about their 'friendship'.

"I don't do interviews, Arabella. You know that." This was the voice of Cedric, the businessman; not that of her father.

"Poppa, please," Elle huffed a little. "Could you do this one interview for my friend? Could you do it for me? Please?"

There was a long pause. She could almost hear him thinking. She had not only said, please, but had said it twice. His little Bella seldom ever asked for anything, and she never ever begged. Elle knew she had gotten his attention.

* * *

><p>This wasn't for anything petty, he knew. Cedric wondered what the real reason behind this favor was. He would have given his daughter the world, if she had asked . . . but she never asked. She had never been a greedy child, nor had she grown into a materialistic woman. Had she, his daughter wouldn't even now been living in a city more than two hours away from him at this moment. She would have still been living with him; safely ensconced in his penthouse or his home on the lake, surrounded by people he trusted to place themselves between Arabella and any danger.<p>

He hated this need she had to be independent of him. That she preferred to make her own decisions rather than continue to trust him to make them for her as she had as a child. This experiment she had practically forced him into grated heavily on his nerves, and he worried about her constantly. She mistakenly believed that the dangers that came with being a rich man's daughter were somehow mitigated once she reached adulthood.

That part of him that made him such a successful businessman came to the fore. Perhaps he could somehow use this favor to get something that he wanted in return.

"If I do this thing for you . . ." he began. "Might you reciprocate by doing me a little favor in return?"

"What sort of favor," she asked hesitantly.

Cedric smiled at her caution. She was right to be suspicious.

"You know I worry about you," he said. "This silly attempt to go off on your own is ill-conceived. You know this."

Elle interrupted him before he could insist on her moving back home. "No, Poppa! I will not move back in with you."

"Then what about we find you a nice apartment here in Chicago? Closer to home and to me? Hm?"

Elle laughed in spite of herself. "You own Chicago, Poppa. If I am to have the opportunity to be independent and earn my own way, I need to be out from under your jurisdiction. Bludhaven isn't so far away. It could be Gotham City, you know, or New York."

"New York," he repeated, startled. "That is too far away; a plane flight away. Gotham is yet another hour further from me."

"See," she smirked. "Bludhaven is just around the corner from you. Much better than New York City."

"It sounds as if this favor is turning out to be very one-sided. You should have followed me into the family business, Bella. You would be a natural negotiator."

"I have no desire to spend my days inside of a boardroom, thank you, no. That is more Aidan's thing."

Cedric shrugged. It was true his son was a talented businessman, but Arabella was the child of his heart; the daughter of his second wife, his true love. From the moment he held her in his arms, looked into her rich, dark eyes, he had desired nothing more than to give her everything. When his beloved Esmeralda had died on that black day sixteen years ago, he had clung to the child with all his might. He could still see his beautiful wife in their daughter's eyes, in some of her movements and expressions. At times, it was almost as if Esmeralda had never left him.

Perhaps it was wrong of him to choose a favorite from amongst his children, but he couldn't help himself. It created a sibling rivalry that he often used to bring his children to heel, or make them strive to improve themselves. It certainly worked in molding his son into a strong businessman and able partner in his growing empire. Arabella, however, didn't respond nearly as well to his parenting tactics.

"Then how about visiting me, then, if you won't end this debacle and move back?"

"It isn't, nor will it be, a debacle, Poppa!" Anger flared in her voice, traveling through the phone with ease.

"Whatever you want to call it, then, Bella," he said, wearily. "I have a meeting in about another ten minutes. If you want me to seriously consider granting this one time interview with your reporter 'friend', then my price for it is a visitation by you once a month during which you will attend one event with me."

"Is that event truly with you, or do you plan to set me up with yet another escort?" Elle asked, warily. "I have no desire to spend an entire evening on the arm of one of your business associate's sons or with anyone else for that matter."

"How do you know if one of those sons isn't the 'one' for you, if you do not attempt to at least have a conversation with them," Cedric teased.

* * *

><p><em>Because I have already found him, Poppa<em>! She chastised herself for thinking it, even as the truth of the words struck her heart. It wasn't something she could say aloud, however, at least, not yet. And certainly not to her father . . . That would definitely send the poor man running from her, if he had to face down her father.

"Isn't there anything else you desire of me, Poppa," Elle asked. She did not want to go back to Chicago for anything.

"I would say for you to marry a man of worth, and provide me a bevy of grandchildren that I can groom to take over my empire one day, hm," Cedric replied, jovially. "I know of several young men who would fit the bill."

Elle cringed. She was ready to call the whole thing off. Taking a breath, she made him the next best offer that she thought he might agree to. "I will visit with you, Poppa. I might, on occasion, go to an event with you, but on _your_ arm; not anyone else's. That is my deal."

Elle dreaded the idea of returning to Chicago for any reason. She didn't doubt that any visit she made would be filled with all manner of machinations meant to prevent her from returning to Bludhaven. Her father would do his damnedest to keep her in Chicago with him, which will create all kinds of problems in and of itself. And now that she was finally on her own, she had to promise to return every month for a visit throughout the rest of her trial.

"You drive a hard bargain, child," he sighed, although the both of them knew he had gotten the best end of the deal.

"I do not," she blew out a frustrated breath. "If this benefited me at all, I wouldn't have promised to do something guaranteed to create yet more friction with Aidan. He's going to hate this, and as a result, make certain I will hate it even more. You know he's going to take my visits as some sort of failure on my part, and treat me accordingly."

"Nonsense! I do not know why you two are always at each others' throats. You are brother and sister, for God's sake!" Cedric groused. "You will come home, and Aidan will do what I tell him to do."

In business, yes, Aidan always did what their father told him to. That wasn't an issue, however. It was what he did in the rest of his time that created the problem. Her brother had hated her from the moment of her birth. It had taken many years for her to understand the reasons why. There would never be peace between them, she knew. It was just one more reason why she had been so desperate to move out of her father's home, and out of Chicago proper.

She prayed that Dick continued to be worth effort she was going through for him. Thinking about the time already spent with him, Elle reconsidered her bargaining skills. Maybe she wasn't such a bad negotiator at that, when she considered the prize awaiting her come tomorrow night after her performance. He was work, she decided, but he was worth it.


	7. Visitation

Batman stepped out of the batmobile and glanced around the cave. Alfred was usually waiting for him when he finished patrol. There was no sign of him tonight, however. Of course, he was home nearly an hour early, so it was possible that he was in the kitchen still.

He moved toward the changing area, eager to get out of his costume. It wasn't often he was able to end his patrol early, and he thought he might like to sit by the fire in his study, and go over what he had seen tonight. He had his suspicions. It could still be either Red Hood or Robin, but he was beginning to lean in a different direction.

He noticed Robin's costume hanging in its usual position as he removed the cowl and the cape. He fingered the material. It looked and smelled clean; proof that Damian wasn't the hero in question in tonight's crimes. Still, Bruce planned to swing by the boy's room to make certain before crossing one suspect off of his list.

After showering, Bruce walked out into the cave, ready to climb the stairs up to the manor's secret entrance. He stopped after two steps. He wasn't alone in the cave anymore. His eyes moved around the various areas visible from where he stood. Alfred would have greeted him upon his exit from the changing area. Whoever was watching him, it wasn't Alfred!

Bruce tensed, awaiting for the intruder to show himself . . . and almost immediately after that, he allowed his muscles to relax. No alarms had gone off. The cave's entrances were nearly impossible to detect without a prior knowledge of their locations. No one could enter here without either he or Alfred being alerted unless he had clearance.

He felt his lips lift in preparation as he turned around slowly.

"I so had you," came a well-loved, familiar voice. "You are slipping in your old age, Grandpa."

Bruce blinked at that slur. "Grandpa? Why, you young whippersnapper . . . I dare you to step over here, and say that."

Laughter greeted his teasing words. "Ah, Bruce, I missed you!"

His eyes found and greedily absorbed the sight of his eldest son, still garbed as Nightwing, stepping out from behind the computer. He had obviously been hiding out in the medical bay. "The feeling is mutual, chum. Everyone has been wondering what happened to you." Bruce frowned. "That was you tonight, wasn't it? Were you hurt?"

Nightwing grinned. "Are you kidding? No one laid a hand on me. I was in the zone tonight."

"So, why were you in the medical bay?"

"Just wanting to see how long it took you to notice I was here," Nightwing mimed checking his watch. "Almost ten minutes! Bruce, I am ashamed . . ."

Despite the chiding words, Bruce gloried in the happiness he could hear in his son's voice – _finally_! "Ten minutes? I hardly think so. Does Alfred know you're here?"

Nightwing moved past him into the changing area in order to strip out of his costume. "No one knows I'm here. And it was ten minutes. I arrived here just before you came in. You just didn't notice me until now."

Bruce leaned against the doorway that shielded the changing area and the bathroom from the rest of the batcave, and watched Nightwing become his beloved eldest son with a few swipes of spirit gum remover.

"I can't imagine that I was that distracted," he teased. The fact was, he had indeed been that distracted . . . and ironically enough, with thoughts of the intruder, himself. "So, you are going to admit that you were the crime-fighting fairy in Gotham tonight, correct?"

Dick paused in changing to gape at the older man. "Crime-fighting . . . what?"

Bruce grinned. "Just something that Red Robin dubbed the mysterious hero running around Gotham this evening. It seemed fitting at the time."

Dick laughed as he pulled his sweater over his head, and Bruce marveled that he sounded so normal after so long of faking it. When Dick finally turned to face him, Bruce was struck by the lightness in his eyes, the relaxation in his stance, his shoulders; the easiness of his grin. This wasn't simply back to normal, though, was it, he thought wonderingly.

"Dick," he began. "Has something happened?"

His son blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Bruce was almost afraid to ask, but something had pulled his son out of his depression of almost nine months. His heart was torn between hope and fear. "H-have you and Barbara worked things out?"

"What," Dick looked startled.

"Have you and Barbara gotten back together?" What else could account for this?

Dick slowly shook his head. "No, Bruce. No, we haven't spoken or seen one another for months now. Why do you ask?"

Although Dick sobered, he didn't appear to be falling back into his previous funk now that the topic of Barbara Gordon came up. New hope arose. Could it be that Dick was finally over her? An uneasy relief replaced Bruce's fear. Was it too much to hope for that he had met someone else . . .

"You . . . you seem to be in better spirits tonight than I've seen you since . . . well, for a long time, son. I'm glad to see it, is all. I was getting a little worried."

"Worried?" Dick grimaced. "Oh, because I haven't called in a while. I'm sorry about that. It is part of the reason I decided to come to see you rather than just pick up the phone."

"Keep going," Bruce said as the two began making their way up the stairs. "I'm curious as to what you've been doing to stay so busy that you couldn't take a moment to phone home."

Dick shrugged, ruefully. "I've been pretty distracted lately, I guess."

"Apparently so. Last I heard you and Wally had planned to spend a weekend together."

Dick nodded. "Yeah, it was good to see him again."

The pair moved into the manor, stopping off at the study. "Then, you dropped off the face of the earth."

"Not exactly. I came by after that," he defended himself. "You just happened to not be here."

"So, get me up to speed. What has happened to put that smile back on your face?" Bruce leaned back against the chair, prepared to listen.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Heh! Well, Wally sort of talked me into going out more . . ."

Bruce smiled and leaned forward. _I knew it_, he thought triumphantly. "What's her name?"

"Bru-uce, can you stop being the detective for five minutes?" The blush that fanned across Dick's face drew Bruce's smile into an out-and-out grin.

Alfred walked into the study, interrupting Bruce's laughter. "Well, I say, this is a pleasant surprise." The butler's mouth turned up at seeing the two masters together again, and in such high spirits. "It is good to see you, Master Dick. You are looking . . . quite well, in fact. Still too thin, but it is nice to see you smiling again. It was sorely missed."

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I suppose I've been worrying you both for a while now," Dick apologized.

"Nonsense. We would have worried about you regardless," Alfred reassured him. He looked over at Bruce, asking, "I wasn't expecting you back so soon or I would have met you downstairs, sir."

Bruce waved away the concern. "It's fine, Alfred. It isn't as though I am incapable of taking care of myself."

"Ah, of course not, sir. The question, however, isn't whether you can take care of yourself, but whether you can take care of yourself _properly_." The older man glanced between his two charges. "Might I bring you both some coffee, and perhaps a light repast?"

"I'm kind of in the mood for some of your cocoa. Would it be too much trouble?" Dick looked up hopefully.

Alfred smiled, beyond pleased to see, not only the lightness of being that the young sir had been missing for far too long, but that his appetite appeared to be returning. "It would be no trouble at all. I believe I have some fresh chocolate chip cookies in the tin as well. Shall I bring you out one or two?"

"That sounds terrific, Alfred. Thanks!" Dick's eyes lit up at the prospect of having some of the retainer's famous baked goods.

"I agree," Bruce added. "No coffee for me, Alfred. I'll take some cocoa and a cookie also."

"Very good, sir. I shall return momentarily." The butler nodded to the two men, and retreated back to the kitchen to prepare the snacks.

"Now, then," Bruce turned back to his wayward son. "You were about to give me a name?"

"Was I? Funny, but I don't recall that," Dick smirked.

Bruce looked surprised. "You aren't worried that I won't approve, are you? For her to manage to give you back your smile, how could I not instantly love her?"

"I only just met her," Dick explained, finally admitting that it was a girl that had brought him out of his slump. "I mean, I had been going to see her for a while now, but only just recently gotten the courage up to ask her out on a date."

Bruce frowned at his wording. "I don't think I understand. How did you two meet?"

"Ah, now that's a funny story." The blush was back.

"Yes? I'm waiting . . . Amuse me," Bruce encouraged him.

Dick had just finished relaying the first time he had seen Elle, and how he'd just been left by his date after ignoring her in lieu of the singer, when Alfred came in bearing cocoa and cookies. Bruce refrained from commenting that his plate had but two cookies on it, while Dick's bore three. After all, Bruce hadn't been absent for all of a month, nor was he in need of fattening up.

"Thanks, Alfred. These look great," Dick bit into one of his cookies immediately.

Well, if it isn't too bad of me, you are looking a little peaked this evening, young sir."

"Oh, well, I caught the flu last week, and that put me flat on my back for four days," he admitted, ruefully. "But I'm all better now," he added quickly, before he could be lectured about going out on patrol in less than top condition.

"That explains much," Alfred nodded sagely. "You are far too thin."

"The flu? You should have called," Bruce insisted. "Alfred could have come to get you. You could have recuperated here, where there are people to help you."

Oddly enough, a grin flitted across Dick's face. "I was well taken care of. No worries about that. In fact, compared to some of my fellow officers, I was back up and working in half the time. As for weight, I don't think I lost any despite being sick. If anything, I probably put on a pound or two."

"Really? Was it this new girl in your life who took care of you?" Bruce watched his son's face. He was willing to bet good money that he was right.

Alfred looked over at Dick, interested. "What's this? You've found yourself a new girlfriend, Master Dick? If she is so considerate at to look after you while you've been ill, then I must say that I approve of her wholeheartedly already."

* * *

><p>Suddenly, Dick wasn't sure he was ready to share the knowledge of Elle just yet. He knew that as soon as Bruce had a name, the man would be researching the woman as if she were some new super villain. Dick wanted the opportunity to get to know her over the course of time spent with her. But it was nice to know that both men approved of her based upon the little he had let spill.<p>

And she was pretty considerate. Elle had dropped by every day that he had been ill; checking to see that he had everything he needed, and to bring him home-cooked meals. When he was back on his feet, he had been so busy at work and then as Nightwing, he had only managed to take her out for an evening once since he'd recovered. Unlike their previous date, no one was injured during the course of this one. Elle had rediscovered her gracefulness, now that she wasn't in a canoe, and the evening had been filled with easy talk, laughter, and fun.

Both men were staring at him with such encouragement, however, Dick felt bad about disappointing them. Still, he wanted to preserve his privacy for a little while longer. He decided upon a compromise, instead.

"How about I bring her by in a couple of weeks to meet you? You can learn all about her, then." He was taking a chance, not talking this over with Elle first, but he thought he could get her to agree to it. He didn't think she had ever met a stranger. Her easy-going charm made friends wherever she went.

Bruce's eyes narrowed on him. Great, Dick thought. He had a feeling that he would need to check his apartment for bugs and spy cameras over the next few days. He took another bite of cookie to hide his smirk. Making Bruce crazy with curiosity for a couple of weeks would be worth it.

"Quiet evening in Gotham, was it, sir?" Alfred changed the subject smoothly, sensing that the young master wanted to keep his secrets a while longer.

"Ah, yes," Bruce smirked. He had noticed that Dick smoothly gotten around answering his earlier question about whether or not he had had a hand in the evening's business. "Apparently we had a mysterious person going around Gotham this evening taking down criminals, and leaving the scene before Tim and I could even show up."

Alfred frowned at that. "A mysterious personage, sir?"

"Perhaps Dick might shed some light on the subject," Bruce murmured.

"This sounds to be an interesting tale. I am ready, young sir,"

Dick blushed, in spite of himself. "Ah, perhaps Bruce can enlighten you, Alfred, since he apparently has it all worked out."

"So, you aren't going to admit it," Bruce asked, amused.

Alfred lifted a brow, his attention moving back and forth between the two men. "Are you suggesting that the young master had something to do with your mystery hero, sir?"

"Or as Tim calls him, our crime-fighting fairy," Bruce smirked, struggling to keep his chuckles contained at the look on Dick's face at his new title.

"I am not a fairy," he burst out finally, laughing. "I just kept on running into criminals on my way to locate you."

"You would have found us readily enough had you slowed down long enough for us to arrive," Bruce pointed out. "We estimated our time of arrival was more or less two minutes after you had already fled the scene."

"I wasn't fleeing," Dick protested. "I simply wasn't dawdling."

Bruce nearly snorted cocoa through is nose. "Dawdling?"

Dick grinned. "Hey! Alfred uses it!"

"Sorry," Bruce waved the man in question away. He managed to not spew his drink. "It is just one of those words that look better on paper than used in actual speech. You know, like 'comeuppance'."

"I wonder how you have managed not to drown yourself in your beverages in the past whenever I have used either word," Alfred queried, dryly.

"It sounds okay when you say it, Alfred," Bruce answered.

"Must be that dry English accent," Dick volunteered. "One can get away with saying all sorts of things when keeping a stiff upper lip."

"You were telling us about your magic wand, Master Dick," Alfred reminded him while maintaining his poise.

Bruce snorted again, his cup rattling in its saucer. He gave up trying to drink it, and just set it down on the coffee table. He swiped at the stray droplets on his turtleneck as he choked.

"I assume you are staying the night, young sir," Alfred inquired, as he removed the cocoa from Bruce's reach.

"It's too late to start back tonight. You should spend the night. You can have a good breakfast, and borrow one of the cars to go to work," Bruce offered. "Tim will be dropping by in the morning as well. He'd love to see you, even if it is for just a meal."

Dick set down his empty cup. "I have plans for tomorrow evening. I wouldn't be able to return the car until Friday night."

"You can join us for patrol afterwards. Damian would be thrilled," Bruce commented, knowing the idea of working a patrol with his youngest brother would tempt Dick to stay another night. Maybe then he could tease some more information out of his eldest about this miracle woman he'd begun dating.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dick stood up and stretched. "What's for breakfast?"

"I was thinking we might have French toast with extra cinnamon," Alfred winked at the younger man. It had been Master Dick's favorite breakfast food since he had arrived on their doorstep sixteen years before.

"Yes!" Dick made a fist. "Much better than toaster pastries."

* * *

><p>Alfred watched the two men head toward the stairs together, feeling relief flood his limbs for the first time in months. He had met someone else. Possibly given her his heart . . . Alfred had not met her yet, but felt overwhelming gratefulness to her for returning the joy to the young master's life. He prayed that this young woman took better care of that fragile organ than did the previous owner.<p> 


	8. The Revelation

**This chapter includes another favorite song of mine. I do NOT own this song. I just like it a LOT, and thought it would enhance the story. It is called "Hold On" written by Michael Buble', Alan Chang, and Amy Foster-Gillies, and performed by Michael Buble'. You can find it on his album entitled "Crazy Love". Look it up and have a listen. It is a beautifully romantic song, as Dick can attest to.**

Dick stood on the sidewalk outside of Chez Donovan's feeling a little nervous. It was still an hour before Elle was scheduled to perform, and already the line of people stretched halfway down the block. The restaurant had recently become reservation only to prevent people from doing what he had done several weeks ago, taking a table and just waiting for ten o'clock.

If Elle hadn't called him, and told him the situation, Dick would have probably been standing at the end of the line until his "turn" to enter came somewhere around eleven. Instead, she had promised him his table would always be held for him for as long as he still planned to be there. He had, of course, and had called the restaurant earlier in the evening with a special request.

"Wow! This place looks packed," came a familiar voice behind him. "Are you sure we can get in?"

Dick turned and smiled at his "dinner date". "I was wondering if you'd make it."

Bruce stopped beside his son, and shook his hand. "Parking was a bit of a problem."

Dick frowned. "Didn't Alfred bring you? I wanted him to come, as well."

"He would have, but he knew you would have dragged him protesting from the car. You had to know Alfred would balk at having dinner with the two of us out when we can't even get him to join us in the dining room at home."

"I thought he would make the exception," Dick shrugged, disappointed.

Bruce slapped him on the back. "Well, I'm here," he said, eyeing the crowd. "Um, you did say we were going to have dinner, correct? By the time we make it to the door, the restaurant will be closed, unless you made a reservation."

Dick grinned. "I didn't think of it. But who knows," he teased. "Maybe a table will magically open up when the owner hears that billionaire-philanthropist, Bruce Wayne, has come to grace their restaurant with his presence. You could, perhaps, grease a few palms."

Bruce frowned, hesitating. "Uh, Dick, you know I don't like to use my wealth like that." He was rather insulted, in fact.

"I have seen you do it before," he tugged on the man's arm to get him moving. "But usually you have had two or three women on your arm at the time. So, don't I rate a bribe?"

Bruce felt the stirrings of anger begin. "That was done to project a certain image for the paparazzi. I don't see any cameras here."

Dick laughed, and pushed the billionaire-philanthropist between the two new bouncers. One of the new employees, moved to block his path. "Do you have a reservation," the hulking behemoth asked.

"Dick Grayson," he announced to the brute in the tuxedo.

"Oh, Mister Grayson, sir! My apologies. Do come in. I believe your usual table is waiting for you." The hard expression of the man turned swiftly into one of fawning as he quickly pulled the door open for the gentlemen.

Dick had difficulty not laughing outright at Bruce's face. He knew Elle had to be behind "Igor's" attitude reversal. She probably did it as a joke on him, since she didn't know he was bringing a guest with him this evening; although, she likely would have done it anyway even if she had. Either way, it couldn't have worked out more perfectly if he had planned this himself!

He looked at the man's name tag as he passed. He would be seeing him on a regular basis if he and Elle were to continue dating. Dick's eyes widened in surprise, and he stumbled to a halt.

"Your name is really Igor?" He hadn't meant to say "really", but it had slipped out in his shock.

The giant grinned, and leaned down to whisper in a conspiratorial manner. "Actually, it's Dennis. One of the entertainers thought that this would be more intimidating to the rowdy club crowd."

Now Dick did laugh. He knew exactly who made that suggestion. "Carry on, Igor," he waved a royal hand. Igor/Dennis smiled, and bowed his head as Dick and a gaping Bruce continued past.

Shannon, one of the hostesses, recognized him immediately, and was apparently in on the joke. "Mr. Grayson," she called him, instead of her normal "Hey, Dick".

"It's a pleasure to see you again. Your usual table is waiting, sir. Right this way." Shannon grabbed two menus, waving at Robert, the head waiter.

Robert, wearing a stoic expression of which even Alfred would approve, made his way quickly to Dick's table, waving for assistance. Two more waiters appeared immediately, pouring chilled water into the crystal goblets, and holding out the chairs for Dick and a rather stunned Bruce.

"So good of you to join us this evening, sir," Robert nodded to both gentlemen. "Will you be staying after dinner for the show?"

Dick nodded, afraid that he would laugh out loud should he attempt to speak. Actually, Robert had been the one he had spoken to when he had called earlier, explaining that he was bringing family to watch Elle's show. Dick had sworn the man to secrecy, stating he had wanted Elle to be able to impress his father without making her nervous. He had thought that introductions would be easier in this setting than dragging the poor girl up to Wayne Manor. She likely wouldn't be overwhelmed by old money, but meeting family members tended to be fraught with tension. Now, the thought was occurring to him that perhaps this whole royal charade had been Robert's idea. He didn't know the man had it in him.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Robert winked at him. "Very good, sir. Daniel will be your waiter this evening."

Dick glanced over and saw Daniel placing himself a discreet distance away. His eyebrows rose up to meet his hairline. The waiter usually covered three other tables besides his own. Tonight, apparently, Daniel was to dedicate himself to Dick's table alone.

After Bruce perused the menu, and the two placed their orders, he leaned over to speak. "I'm impressed. Even I don't generally get this kind of royal treatment when I go out."

Sheepish, Dick admitted, "It is a bit of a surprise to me, as well."

Dinner was wonderful, as usual. A complimentary bottle of vintage port was sent to their table from the owner. Dick hoped the bottle was truly complimentary since he knew from Alfred that this particular bottle went for $300. He glanced at Bruce, and was gratified to see him relaxed as he sipped the after dinner wine with appreciation.

"I have to admit, Dick, that I'm impressed," Bruce commented. "I didn't think that Bludhaven had a good section of town, let alone a restaurant of this caliber. Dinner was easily one of the best I have had the opportunity to enjoy. So, are you going to tell me how you managed all this?"

_No, because I'm not certain how I _did_ manage all this_. Of course, he wouldn't say that out loud. All _he_ had managed to do was to call up the restaurant and tell the head waiter he was bringing his father to see Elle perform, and they would probably have dinner while they were there. So, he did the only thing left for him to do . . . He changed the subject.

"We have to stay, and see the show while we're here," he said. "That's what that line was for out front. People who want to listen to live music, and dance. I hear that the music is fantastic. Tonight is supposed to be one of their jazz nights, and I know you like jazz."

* * *

><p>Bruce looked at his son suspiciously. The kid was up to something. When he initially called him up and invited him to a late dinner, Bruce hadn't thought much of it at the time. He figured that after so long of not talking, and then months of Dick's disinterest in everything that wasn't his job or his mask, that the younger man simply wanted to make up for lost time; to get back into living. Then it occurred to him that this might be Dick's way of introducing him to this new girl he was seeing. Eager to see Dick happy for the first time in what felt like forever, Bruce had accepted with alacrity. When no young woman had presented herself, however, Bruce had to reassess his theory. Perhaps, his initial reaction was the correct one, but . . .<p>

While Bruce admitted that Chez Donovan's was indeed top notch in food and service, the kind of service that had been showered upon the two of them was unusual. No other table had had a waiter exclusively dedicated to it, and the bowing and scraping the staff had demonstrated to Dick had been excessive for a poor beat cop. Even with _his_ reputation and wealth, Bruce had seldom seen this kind of attention bestowed upon him. Although, he didn't know the specifics as yet, Bruce was certain that he was being set up in some way.

"Yes," Bruce agreed, carefully. "I do like jazz."

The owner, Brian Donovan, chose this moment to swoop in and greet his two diners. "Mr. Grayson," Brian smiled. "I hope you and your guest are enjoying yourselves this evening."

"Mr. Donovan, you have exceeded my expectations. The food was exceptional, and the service wonderful." Dick lavished praise upon the restaurant. "I think even Bruce's exacting standards were more than met."

"Is that so, Mr. Wayne?" Donovan asked.

"Incredible, Mr. Donovan," Bruce spoke sincerely. "It was marvelous dining experience."

Brian was pleased. "You are both staying, I assume? I would hate for you to miss the entertainment we have for you, Mr. Wayne. Your son always stays when he joins us for dinner."

Bruce tilted his head at this invitation. Of course, it was perfectly normal for the business owner to wish his paying guests to continue enjoying their experience. But something was up, and he was beginning to get a glimmer of light.

"I wouldn't miss it," he assured both the owner and Dick. Bruce noticed when his son grinned and settled back in his chair with his glass of port, ready to enjoy the rest of the evening. _Yes_, he thought, _the clouds were parting_ . . .

Donovan departed, stopping by to speak a few words at a couple of other tables before stepping up to the stage. By this time, the dinner crowd had thinned considerably, the tables cleared, and the people here for the music alone now entered. Within a few minutes, the atmosphere had changed from relaxing to anticipatory.

* * *

><p>Elle was running behind. The whole day had been bad, but when her car wouldn't start, she had wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and cover her head with her blanket. Thus, she had been forced to wait an inordinate amount of time for a cab, followed by having to make a detour several blocks out of the way. By the time she had finally arrived, she had less than twenty minutes to change, and no time to confer with Morris. Usually, she had time to warm up, go through possible changes in the song line-up, and get ready to take the stage.<p>

Walking into her dressing room, she found several bouquets waiting for her with a platter bearing a half a dozen notes and cards. Although she had only a limited amount of time to find an outfit and change, she couldn't resist. She went to the dozen red roses blocking her view of her mirror. She plucked the card out. Looking for the now familiar script, she tried not to feel disappointment when the hand that wrote this card didn't match Dick's. She read it anyway. After all, someone went to some trouble and no little expense to send the flowers.

"A classic rose for a classic beauty."

Her lips puckered with a vague sense of annoyance. She wasn't blind, nor was she unrealistically modest; Elle knew she was attractive enough. She had even received a couple of invitations to take up modeling at one time or another. But she had never been comfortable with compliments. Being who she was meant no compliment could be taken at face value. Besides, looks were fleeting; easily lost through fate or time. Would this person still want her should her beauty be suddenly stripped from her? Somehow she doubted it. If they wanted to compliment her, why not her voice?

She didn't have time to look through the rest, so she moved to the rack that held her outfits. There was another that held outfits and accessories of the other female singers and band members. She chose an olive green, wraparound blouse that hugged her curves down to her hips, and ended with a loosely-tied bow on the front of one hip with a long, black, velvet skirt with sheer, black, chiffon panels placed throughout the lower portion. She slipped on a pair of black, slingback, open-toed heels. The look was elegant, but comfortable.

"Ten minutes, Elle." Donovan's voice came through the door.

As Elle put her hair up into a loose bun, she eyed some of the other flowers and notes. Maybe he sent her one of those? She moved to a bouquet of daylilies, plucking the card out with slightly nervous hands. The disappointment was harder to conceal this time.

"Your voice speaks to my soul . . ."

That, at least, started out well. If only the sender had stopped right there . . .

"If only your body would also."

Oh, yuck! Disgusted, Elle threw the card and the flowers in the trash. Were they all like this? She went to the platter and started tearing through the notes on the platter. Of all of them, only one was a song request with a pretty compliment on her voice. The rest were requests for private introductions, heavy with innuendo. All but the song request followed the lilies. The irony, that she had practically begged for Dick to ask her out, and now she was being inundated with requests for dates (if one could call them that), was not lost on her.

She touched up her makeup, and grabbed her water bottle as she went out. Donovan met her in the hall.

"You look ravishing, Elle. You are going to knock their socks off," Brian grinned, giving her a little peck on the top of her head. "Did you see all of the flowers and cards?"

She sighed. "Yes," she said, with a pout. "They're from everyone but Dick."

"He's here, at least," Brian smirked.

"Is he?"

The relief she felt at that knowledge was startling. She knew she had been tense, but she hadn't realized up to that point that she had been feeling a little afraid. She wondered if this was what her father had warned her about. She had always thought her mother and grandmother had gotten out of the business because they had met and married their husbands, and wanted to concentrate on starting their families, but when she had told her father that she had gotten a job singing, he had told her they had dropped out of the limelight for different reasons.

He had told her that neither woman had been able to handle their growing fame; that their fans became overzealous and some even a bit rabid in their attempts to gain access to each of the singers, respectively. Elle could barely remember what her mother looked like without a photograph, but she could remember the woman's voice. It remained her strongest memory; the voice of her mother in her head perfect even sixteen years later. Her grandmother, however, Elle had never heard sing before. She knew that the woman had once been a famous opera singer in her day because she had seen the advertisements hanging in one of the rooms in her grandparents' home in Italy. Elle had attempted many times to get the woman to sing to her, but was only ever met with firm refusals. Now, she wondered a little if what her father said had been the truth rather than yet another attempt to prevent her from leaving home.

Thinking back at some of the suggestions she had read in some of the notes, Elle thought it might be a good idea to send a message to the men in the audience that she was off the market. The idea that there were seven or eight men out there that felt it was appropriate to proposition a woman they didn't know, one they had only seen from afar, was incredibly intimidating. Elle had never had to deal with men chasing her in this fashion. Even if her escorts had been less than perfect dates, they had respected her as a person. Of course, they knew what repercussions might happen should they be anything less that perfect gentlemen in her company, too. Anyway, she sincerely hoped Dick didn't mind a repeat performance so soon after the first one. If it went over like it did before, Brian, at least would appreciate it. Business had really begun picking up after that night.

She wrote a note with the song title, and where it would appear on the playlist. She knew that the band had the music with them, but they had been practicing it together for a while now. She knew it was ready. As she finished, Brian was announcing her to a very receptive audience. Taking a deep breath, Elle pasted on a big grin, and walked out on stage with a wave as the intro to her first song started. She paused only to hand of the note to Morris, before stepping up to the mike.

* * *

><p>Dick had to tear his eyes from Elle to check on Bruce's reaction. It was everything he had hoped. Bruce, never demonstrative even at the best of times, was watching her with narrowed eyes and the tiniest upturn to the corners of his mouth. He glanced down, and sure enough, Bruce's foot was tapping; keeping time to the music.<p>

"So, what do you think of the show so far," Dick leaned over to ask.

"She makes me wish that Wayne Enterprises had a record producing department. What was her name again?" Bruce told him, indicating the singer with a nod of his head.

"El-Ella . . . Arabella Hamilton," Dick stammered.

Bruce looked away from the singer to glance at the younger man. "You forgot her name?"

Dick laughed. "Well, actually, she tends to make me forget my own name when I'm listening to her."

Bruce looked back up at the sultry performer, and agreed. "She is definitely an up and comer. I can't imagine it will take too long at this rate for a record producer to snatch her up."

Dick nodded, but frowned at the thought. There was a local record producing company in Gotham, but if Elle was as successful as she deserved to be, she might be required to move to L.A. or maybe New York City. He didn't know if he could follow her, or if she would even want him to.

The fifth song ended, and a new song began. Dick knew because he was counting. Elle tended to take a break after every ten songs or so. He was hoping she would come to the table as she did the previous week so that he could introduce her to Bruce. He blinked as she set the mike down and switched on the wireless mike that fit over her ear. The only time she had ever done that was . . . He sat up straight, and set his glass down. Elle was moving to the steps as she began singing.

* * *

><p>Taking a deep breath, Elle poured her heart into the song she had chosen as she moved down the steps; her eyes unerringly locating their target. If she noticed Dick's dining partner, it didn't show.<p>

"_Didn't they always say we were the lucky ones._

_I guess that we were once, babe, we were once._

_But luck will leave you cause it is a faithless friend,_

_And in the end, when life has got you down,_

_You've got someone here that you can wrap your arms around_."

Dick slid his seat back, but didn't get up immediately to meet her this time. Instead he let her come to him, curious to what she would do. His eyes were riveted onto her face; searching her eyes and finding . . . that something . . . That something special he saw every time she looked at him. Whatever it was, it was his. Of that, he was certain.

Elle smiled as she sang. When she reached him, she slid her hand from one shoulder to the other as she moved behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, singing into his ear, the mike doing its job to ensure that the entire audience could listen in to the song she was dedicating to this one man. After a moment, she moved in between him and the table; leaning against it as she faced him, and held onto his hand.

"_So hold on to me tight._

_Hold on to me tonight._

_We are stronger here together_

_Than we could ever be alone._

_So hold on to me._

_Don't you ever let me go._"

If there were still people in the building, to Dick and Elle, they ceased to exist. As had happened before when she focused upon him, the world melted away, leaving the couple alone with each other and the music. The words of the song touched him in ways never felt before, and when he smiled at her, his heart was there in his eyes. And he saw in hers that her adoration was reflected back at him.

"_There's a thousand ways for things to fall apart._

_But it's no one's fault. No, it's not my fault._

_Maybe all the plans we made might not work out,_

_But I have no doubt, even though it's hard to see._

_I've got faith in us, and I believe in you and me._"

As she picked up the chorus a second time, Dick stood up. Unable to resist for another moment, he swept her up into his arms, and began to dance; holding her close. Elle looked up at him, not caring where he took her as long as he continued to hold her close.

"_So hold on to me tight._

_Hold on, I promise it'll be all right._

_Cause it's you and me together,_

_And baby, all we've got is time._

_So hold on to me._

_Hold on to me tonight_."

Bruce grinned as the lovely, young woman walked straight up to their table. For a moment, color flooded Dick's face. He moved his chair out, but didn't move as Ms. Hamilton serenaded him. His grin faltered, however, when he caught the look in the singer's eyes. Bruce sat up in his chair, and stared, unable to believe what he was seeing right there before God and everyone . . . Either the woman was an Oscar-worthy actress, or she was in love with his son. When Dick suddenly whisked her into a dance, and Bruce could see more than a glimpse of his face, he sucked in his breath. The feeling was returned! It didn't take a detective to deduce that in the space of a few weeks, Dick had fallen head over heels for the woman in his arms!

"_There's so many dreams that we have given up._

_Take a look at all we've got, and with this kind of love,_

_What we've got here is enough._"

At the end of the bridge, the music swelled to a crescendo. Elle's voice soared, and as their hearts took flight, Dick lifted her off of her feet; twirling her around in circles. Elle tilted her face up to the ceiling, her arms lifted as wide as she could, trusting the one who held her to keep her safe. She grinned down at him as he slowly lowered her back onto her feet, and back into the dance.

"_So hold on to me tonight._

_Hold on, I promise it'll be all right._

_Cause we are stronger here together_

_Than we could ever be alone._

_So hold on to me,_

_Don't you ever let me go._

_Hold on to me . . ._

_It's gonna be all right._

_Hold on to me . . . tonight._

_They always say we were the lucky ones . . ._"

Dick lowered her into a dip as they stared into one another's eyes. The last note ended to a pregnant pause; silence that continued for several long seconds . . . The roar of applause, when it came, made them jump. Still holding her, Dick grinned in delight. Remembering the regret he felt at not kissing her at the end of their dance the first time, Dick kissed her now; quickly and impulsively, before setting her back onto her feet.

The crowd went wild. They were on their feet laughing and applauding the couple, happy they had gotten to witness what could only be described as magic.

Elle was laughing along with them. Her arm went up to signal the band, and the next song began; this one faster and far more upbeat. She winked at Dick, and swirled back into the crowd, singing and dancing through the tables and dancing couples to eventually make her way to the stage. Whatever fear and discomfort she might have felt at the beginning of the evening had been washed away in the arms of the man who had claimed her heart in one magical instant.

Happiness coursed through her, and as if somehow connected to her through some sort of electrical charge, the audience, too, was swept up and away in the emotion. It was a party like none before it.

* * *

><p>Dick turned back to his table, and paused at the look on Bruce's face. The older man was also standing and clapping with the rest of the audience, but he looked totally blown away. Dick grinned. It wasn't often he could surprise Batman, after all. He slapped Bruce on the back, laughing.<p>

"So, what do you think of her now?"

"So,_ that's _her!" The girl who brought his son back to life; the woman who chased the depression from his boy, and replaced it with joy . . . Bruce grinned. How could he do anything else but love her.


	9. The Invitation

Dick and Bruce stood near the entrance waiting for Elle to finish up. They weren't the only stragglers, he noticed. Three other men were dragging their feet as they slowly made their way to the door. The men kept looking back over their shoulders toward the stage. They made Dick want to growl a warning, but he kept it contained even as he continued to watch them.

Elle had made it plain throughout the evening that she was with _him_. If someone was too blind and deaf to have figured it out from the song she had sang to him, then the fact that she came to his table during a couple of her breaks should have. Although Elle wasn't exceptionally demonstrative, she was openly affectionate; holding his hand, looking into his eyes, giving him a hug and a peck in greeting and before returning to the stage. How these men couldn't get it that she was taken, he didn't know.

_Taken_? _Was she_? He questioned that a moment, in his head and his heart. Yeah, they went out on a few dates, but three weeks did not a relationship necessarily make. But Dick thought about her when she wasn't around – a lot. And when she was near . . . _Yeah_, he thought, _she's taken_. And so was he. Perhaps he should clarify things with her. It would be nice to know if they were on the same page.

"She has fans, I see," Bruce observed, nodding at the loiterers.

"Mm," Dick's reply was noncommittal. He wished Bruce had kept his observation to himself. Hearing it from another made it more real that there were other men lusting after his woman.

He shook his head to clear it of jealousy. Listening to his internal voice almost made him laugh, however. He sounded like some backwoods Neanderthal. He glanced up to see Bruce smirking at him.

"You don't have to say it," he frowned. "I've already realized that I've got it bad."

"But you can take heart over the fact that she has it just as bad, I would think," Bruce's smirk turned into a smile.

"Does she?" Dick's voice sounded pathetically hopeful even to his own ears.

"I think it is obvious to everyone but you," Bruce laughed. "It is also obvious what you see in her."

Unbeknownst to him, Dick's face turned a little dreamy. "Just wait until you can sit down and talk to her, without loud music, interruptions, and the noise from a few hundred voices. She's smart and funny and sweet."

"That was what you've been looking for all along? Sweet," Bruce teased.

"I-I don't know. I can't describe it. Maybe it's too new yet, but when I'm with her I feel comfortable, peaceful, relaxed . . . and amused. Definitely amused! Do you know what I mean?" He paused for a moment. "Well, probably not. Elle makes me feel like I'm home. Does that make any sense?"

"Elle . . . You've called her that a few times tonight," Bruce commented. "I might have expected 'Bella'."

Dick shrugged. "That's what she calls herself. But, now that you mention it, I've heard her addressed as Bella before. I think it was part of a message on her machine from her father."

Dick perked up. Ella walked out from behind the curtain, and was making her way down the steps. She was dressed casually and for the weather in a long, red, turtleneck sweater over jeans and knee-high, brown leather boots; a brown leather jacket over one arm, her hair loose down her back. A couple that had been speaking to the owner moved to intercept her. He watched Elle smile sweetly at the couple as she spoke to them. After a minute, she shook both of their hands and the couple turned and left.

As Elle drew closer, the three male fans approached her simultaneously. Dick frowned as her smile faltered. She actually retreated a step. She was scared, he realized suddenly. But why? He shook the question off. The reason didn't matter as much to him as it did to make certain she felt protected. He started forward, and felt Bruce moving behind him.

"C'mon, baby. Why won't you give me your number," asked the first man.

"Because I don't want you calling me," Elle told him matter-of-factly. "You can come here, and listen to me sing, but I don't date the customers."

The second man snorted. "That's a lie. We all saw you over at that one guy's table; the one you sang for."

"I'm not a customer so much as I'm her boyfriend. The lady's taken, so hit the road. It's closing time." Dick moved to Elle's side, slipping an arm around her waist possessively. She was trembling, he noted. Had one of the bastards' said something threatening to her before he came into hearing range?

The third man caught movement in his peripheral vision, and turned to find Bruce standing slightly behind him. No fool, he; he recognized two well-built men who carried themselves as if they knew what they were doing.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Hamilton. You sing like an angel." The third man bowed his head to her, spun on his heel, and left. "You all have yourselves a good night."

Elle nodded. "Thank you," she told him graciously. "You take care going home."

The first man glanced over at Bruce also; sizing him up. They were of a similar height and build. "What about that guy," he snarled. "Is he your boyfriend, too?"

"I'm the boyfriend's father," Bruce rumbled, uncrossing his arms. To those who knew how to fight, they would recognize that he was moving into a fighting stance.

The second guy took a step back. He glanced over at Dick. The boyfriend removed his arm from the singer's waist, and moved slightly in front of her. In spite of the fancy suits, he realized that both men were capable and willing to fight them.

"Well, okay," he grumbled. "We didn't realize you had a boyfriend. We just thought he was part of the show, you know?"

The first guy gaped at his friend. "What are you doing? These guys ain't nothing! They're just a couple of rich pansies. We can take them!"

The second guy wasn't so sure. "He's her boyfriend, Joe. She's not going to want you, even if you do manage to bloody his nose. C'mon, let's go to my place and get some beer. I can call up Nancy. She said she has a friend visiting from out of town."

"Joe" hesitated; looking seriously as if he were considering trying to take on both men without the help of his buddy. After a second thought, however, he grunted, and turned to follow his friend out the door.

Brian walked up as the three of them watch the two men leave. Elle leaned against Dick's back, resting her forehead on his shoulder, and sighed heavily; the tension visibly draining out of her body.

What's going on here," he asked. "Elle, were those men bothering you?"

"No," she breathed. "It's okay, Brian. They were just leaving."

"Honey, that's why I hired the bouncers," he said, sympathetically. "It's great that the people love you so much, but that doesn't give them the right to harass you afterwards."

Dick shot him a startled look. "_That's_ why you hired the bouncers?" He turned and slipped an arm around Elle's waist again; drawing her close. "Has this happened before?"

"No," Elle shook her head.

"Yes," Brian said, at the same time.

Dick and Bruce frowned.

"Which is it," Bruce asked.

Brian touched Elle's arm, giving her a look. "Yes."

"It wasn't serious," Elle offered. "He just wanted to ask me out."

"But he wouldn't take no for an answer," Brian added.

"He was a little persistent, yes, but nothing came of it," Elle insisted, not wanting to get Dick upset.

"Elle, he wouldn't let you get into the cab!" Brian turned back to Dick and Bruce, certain that they would share his concern. "The cabbie had his dispatcher dial 911. Robert, Morris, and I came out right about that time. I don't know what was wrong with the guy, but he refused to leave the premises; refused to leave Elle alone."

"I don't think it was that serious." Elle was blushing. "Things just escalated because you guys came out and got involved."

"Damn straight we got involved," Brian yelled at her. "He kept trying to grab your arm. Even though the three of us got between you, he still kept trying to reach through to you. The guy was crazy!" Brian looked back at Dick. "Even the cabbie was worried enough to get out of his car to help us corral the guy. The police finally arrived a few minutes after that, and carted his ass off. But until they had cuffed him, and was hauling him away, he never stopped trying to reach for her!"

Dick looked at her, alarmed. "Is this true? Did he get his hands on you? Did he hurt you?"

* * *

><p>Embarrassed, Elle ducked her head, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears threatening to fall. The episode was only a couple of days old. She had managed to get through it and get home before she had lost it completely and finally allowed herself to cry. The things the man had said to her before the cab driver had arrived had alarmed her, and the way he had continued to try to grab her had been frightening. All Elle wanted to do was forget it had happened.<p>

She was probably overreacting tonight as well. It was those damned flowers and cards she had gotten earlier. It had made her wary of the men that approached her, even though this time she was still inside the restaurant with a half a dozen people around her. She had been perfectly safe. Why was she letting these things spook her?

"It was nothing, Dick. He was an overzealous fan, is all," she was still trying to convince herself more than she was the others.

Brian looked at her, suspicious. "You had said you were okay, but you never actually said if he had hurt you before we all got there. Did he hurt you?"

"I said that I wasn't, didn't I," Elle insisted. That wasn't a lie, since she didn't actually feel anything until later, once the adrenaline rush had subsided. The long scratches on her arm came when the guy had grabbed her arm when she had first refused to go with him for coffee. She had jerked her arm out of his grasp, and his fingernails had left grooves in her skin as he struggled to keep his grip on her. She had shoved her sleeves down immediately afterward for protection, in case he managed to grab her again. Her cab had arrived then, and Brian and the others came barreling out of the restaurant almost immediately after that.

Dick recognized the lie immediately. The eyes darting to the left; the hesitation in her voice; the quickening of her breath were just three of the tells, and more than enough for him to know she was hiding something.

"Where did he hurt you," he asked, gently. She was getting spooked by all the attention.

Her eyes darted up to meet his, and then dipped to the floor again. She sighed heavily, and silently slid the left sleeve of her sweater up past her elbow. She wished that they wouldn't make such a fuss over her. The scratches were already healing.

"Oh, my God," Brian gasped. "Elle, why didn't you say anything?"

* * *

><p>Dick eyes widened. Those weren't just scratches, but gouges! He looked at the long grooves that ran nearly the entire length of her forearm, and thought she could have used some stitches. They were healing well, enough. He didn't see any redness to indicate infection, thankfully. She must have cleaned it very well, but he knew without saying that these lines would scar. It was no wonder that she had reacted to those three men the way she had.<p>

"Why didn't you call me," Dick asked. "You should have called me. I would have taken you to the emergency room to get these cleaned and stitched up. They're going to scar," he told her gently.

"Will that bother you," she asked, worriedly. "If they scar?"

He blinked at her. "No! Of course not! But these are deep enough that they should have required medical attention. Now, answer my question, Elle. Why didn't you call me when this happened?"

"You had told me that you were working that night," she reminded him. "I didn't want to bother you if you were in the middle of something important or dangerous."

He had been working that night; as Nightwing, though, not as a police officer. Dick supposed she had a point, but he hated that she didn't feel like she could call him with her own emergency. He made a decision at that moment, that if possible, _and I will do everything I can to make it possible,_ Dick would be here to escort her home from work. If not as Dick, certainly he could watch over her as Nightwing. He could make certain she got into the cab safely, follow her home, and make sure she got into her building without incident.

Bruce had moved closer so that he, too, could see the marks marring her perfect skin. "Scratches and bites made by humans are more prone to infection than those of animals. You were lucky that nothing serious came of it."

Elle scoffed quietly. "I know how to clean a wound. I might have stitched it up myself, but I figured the scar would be more noticeable had I done so. So, I bandaged it for a day or so. It will be fine. Like I told you . . . It was nothing."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, and met Dick's gaze. She was a petite, little bit of fluff! How was it that she knew how to clean and stitch wounds? Particularly on herself! That wasn't something the average person could, or _would_ if he could, do . . .

Brian broke in. "That's it. I'm going to hire more bouncers, and have at least two present inside as well as outside. This will not happen again!" The restaurant owner turned on his heel, and stalked back to his office.

Eager to change the subject, Elle pushed her sleeve back over her arm, and turned to Bruce. "So, Mr. Wayne," she smiled at him. "How was your evening? Did you enjoy yourself?"

* * *

><p>Recognizing her attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Bruce allowed himself to be distracted. Her wounds were healing without issue, the owner was taking steps to prevent further problems from occurring, and while she had been fearful of the men earlier, Elle had handled the situation without tears or hysterics. There was no reason to continue to question her. The man who had caused the problem had been arrested already, although he would probably be released earlier than necessary because she hadn't reported the injury to the police when it happened. The men this evening would likely not be back.<p>

"I found it a very pleasant surprise," Bruce commented. "Dick didn't tell me he was going to introduce me to his new girlfriend; only that he wanted me to join him for dinner and some live music. You voice is quite amazing."

Elle smiled with genuine pleasure. She reached for Dick's hand. His hand engulfed hers almost completely. "You aren't alone in that, Mr. Wayne. I had no idea that Dick was bringing a guest with him tonight, let alone that it would be his father."

"Call me Bruce, please," the elder man offered.

Elle hesitated. "That wouldn't seem disrespectful?"

Bruce chuckled. "No, not in the least. It is, after all, what Dick calls me."

"Very well . . . Bruce," Elle tried it out. "You may call me Elle. All my friends do."

"Thank you, Elle," Bruce smiled. "Now, since Dick has been so tight-lipped lately, I suppose he hasn't gotten around to issuing an invitation for the two of you to come for a visit to Gotham City. It would give me the opportunity to get to know you better, and for you it will be a chance to see where he grew up and meet his brothers."

Elle looked over at the man at her side. "Please, say yes," Dick said.

"You have brothers, too?"

"I have three, although you will only be meeting two next weekend," he grinned. "Oh, and Alfred, too!"

"Alfred?" Elle glanced back to Bruce for clarification.

"My butler," Bruce explained. "He, as much as I did, helped to raise Dick. He's family."

Elle grinned and opened her mouth to accept when she remembered that she had a previous engagement next weekend. "Oh, I'm afraid I have a prior engagement next weekend," she admitted, disappointed. "I am supposed to go to a Halloween party next Friday night in Gotham. I promised I would attend more than a month ago. It's supposed to be a rather big event and I already RSVP'ed, and got my costume together. I guess I could try to back out . . ."

Dick blinked. "It's a costume party?"

"Yes," she said, happily. "I'm kind of excited about it. I've only ever been to one masquerade before, and that was at Carnivale in Venice when I was fifteen. My grandparents took me. This promises to be very different than that one . . . Say," she looked at Dick with a sparkle in her eyes. "How would you like to go with me?"

"What?"

"I'm allowed a guest. I know it's kind of short notice and all, but I'm sure we can find you a suitable costume in time. I'll even go pick one up for you, if you like!" Elle was warming up to her subject.

"How about you do both," Bruce interjected, drawing the eyes of the couple. "You said this party is being held in Gotham?

Elle nodded. "Yes."

"Why do you not come for a long weekend to Gotham and go to your party from there?" Bruce explained. "It's only for one evening. You wouldn't have to drive all the way there from Bludhaven, and all the way back after the party. You will still be able to meet the rest of the family, and enjoy spending the weekend together."

Bruce could see by the way Elle lit up, that he had offered her the most tempting proposition he could have made. He knew she was going to accept even before she agreed.

She turned to Dick. "Is that acceptable to you? You wouldn't mind going to the costume party with me?"

To get her to spend an entire weekend with him, even if he had to share her with her friends and his family, he would have promised a hell of a lot more. "I think I can manage that."

"There's no admittance without a costume, you know," she warned. "You would _have_ to wear one to get in."

"For you, anything," Dick promised. It was only later that he found cause to regret that promise. At the moment, however, he was perfectly content to promise her the moon.

"Really," she squealed, excitedly. Thrilled, Elle threw her arms around his neck, laughing delightedly. He was truly the very best boyfriend – ever! It didn't matter that he was her first boyfriend because Elle knew well enough that not many boyfriends would be so accommodating to her wishes.

Bruce turned his head. She sparkled with a light similar to the one he had always found around his son. That they found happiness in such simple things made them, as a couple, shine with a joy so bright that it was a bit difficult for him to look at directly. He didn't know much about the girl yet, but, of course, he would. What he had learned just by watching the two interact together was enough to give him hope. Dick deserved what this young woman offered . . . Comfort, happiness, love . . . and peace. Bruce thought about what he would give for those things himself. Almost anything. Practically everything.

* * *

><p>"So," Dick smiled down at her, when she had released him. "What are you going as?"<p>

"Well," she said, shyly, not wanting to give it away just yet. "It's a themed costume party, you know."

"Really? What's the theme," he asked.

"Superheroes," she beamed at him. "Isn't that great? It's going to be so much fun!"

His smile wilted a little around the edges, and he glanced at Bruce. "Superheroes, eh?"

"Yes, and I have the perfect idea for a costume for you!" The wheels were turning. Dick could see them turning in her beautiful, little head. A strange feeling began in his belly. He thought it might be fear.

Dick slid a second glance at Bruce. The man's face would be comical if it were him that would be going rather than Dick. He suspected that his face looked much the same way. Elle, caught up in her excitement, didn't seem to notice.

"What would that be," Dick asked. With his eyes, he sent a plea to Bruce that said, _help me_!

She grinned at him, but for the first time since he met her, it wasn't a comforting grin. "Oh no," she said, slyly. "It's going to be a surprise!"


	10. A Secret Shared

**It's funny how you can have a map in mind of what is supposed to happen in a chapter, and by the time you are finished with it, it bears no resemblance to the original copy in your head. You start typing, and the next thing you know, your characters come to life and take over without your permission! I hadn't planned for one of Elle's secrets to come out just yet, but she and Dick convinced me to allow it to happen this way. I guess it was time to take their relationship to the next level . . .  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Elle hesitated before packing the box inside her suitcase. It was not at all what she had hoped it would be. Okay, that was the biggest understatement of her life, but what choice did she have? She had searched and searched everywhere that costumes were sold in Bludhaven, and then in desperation had even taken a cab into Gotham City to search there. Had she time, she would have went back to Chicago to search, but alas, it was not to be.<p>

Seriously, was everyone going to the party this year as the same person? She could only find one costume that could possibly fit a man the size of Dick Grayson. He wasn't exceptionally tall, but he was built – _Man, was he built_! Yesterday, she had even been desperate enough to consider a different costume altogether, but pretty much everything in his size had been sold out. So, she had taken the one she could find, and prayed it looked better on him than it did when she held it up for inspection.

Of course, it would look better on him. The man was incredible! He could make a paper bag look good . . . And that thought got her all distracted for several long minutes, imagining him walking around in the rain in naught but a paper bag, and how the bag was slowly disintegrating under the torrential onslaught. She sighed, shaking the stupid smile off of her face, and tucking the box firmly in the midst of her clothing.

Closing the lid, Elle looked at herself in the mirror, trying to stave off another panic attack. Was she really going to Gotham City to meet Dick's family? Sure, she had already met his adopted father, and Bruce had seemed very nice and laid back for such a successful businessman. He didn't seem much like her father at all. Cedric Hamilton was driven. He never seemed to take off the power suit, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Her father's entire life was the boardroom.

Her hands smoothed over the extra long, cream-colored sweater she wore over dark brown, knit leggings and her favorite brown boots. She wore a long pendant as an accessory, but Elle thought she looked too drab. Glancing at the clock, she didn't have time for an entire wardrobe change, so she looked at the hanger she tied all her scarves to, and picked out one the color of bright raspberry. She wrapped it around her neck, and liked the pop of color. And just in time, she thought, as her buzzer sounded.

Grabbing her small suitcase and overnight bag, she met Dick at her door. The kiss in greeting was long, and when her knees weakened, she leaned back into the door frame. It was almost enough to make her forget the queasiness in her stomach – almost. She loved Dick's kisses, and they only got better each time, but . . . What if his family didn't like her? What if, once Bruce got to know her, he changed his mind, and didn't want her dating his son? What if . . .

Dick pulled back, a little breathless, and looked at her. "Stop it. They're going to love you. How could they not when I do . . ."

That implication hung there between them for a long silent minute. The flips her stomach had been doing took a new roll. Surely, he didn't mean _that_. But he didn't bother to correct what he knew she must be thinking. He just smiled at her, and leaned in for another kiss.

Her suitcase had been set on the floor beside them, but her overnight bag slipped from her limp fingers to thump on the carpeted hallway; its existence abruptly forgotten. She wrapped her arms around his neck; her fingers slid through his hair. Neither noticed when the neighbor's door opened, or the couple that walked by them snickering in amusement, or when the elevator had closed behind them a short time later.

When the kiss ended, Elle was in a relaxed, near liquid state of bliss. Dick leaned his forehead against her. "What were we supposed to be doing again?"

Elle smiled and pulled him down for another kiss. When he pulled back a third time several minutes later, he laughed. "We better go, or we aren't going to go anywhere except back into your apartment."

A few minutes later, he was tucking her luggage into the back of a sporty, gray import.

"Is this an Aston Martin," she asked, already knowing what it was.

"Bruce let me borrow it to pick you up in," he explained. "He must like you for him to hand me the keys to one of his classic imports."

She ran an appreciative hand along its side. "The feeling is mutual . . . and I like his car, too."

Dick snorted, as he moved to open her door. Elle hummed in delight as she slid onto the buttery leather seat. She moved to grab the seat belt, but Dick beat her to it. Taking his time, he leaned across her to fasten it. She blew into his ear, making him jump and bump his head on the car's roof. Elle slapped a hand over her mouth attempting to cover her laughter.

"I'm sorry," she said, but it was kind of hard to believe her while she was giggling. "Kiss it and make it better," she offered.

"You're forgiven," he told her, darting in for another quick kiss.

Minutes later, they pulled out into traffic. Maybe now that they were on the road, they would actually make good time. It was too dangerous to kiss the driver while the car was moving, after all.

* * *

><p>"So, what's your father like," Dick asked, after they had crossed the bridge into Gotham City. They still had another half an hour to go to reach the manor, and he decided to indulge his curiosity a bit.<p>

Normally, he tended to steer the topic of conversation clear of family because of the secrets his held, but Bruce created a kind of conversational sabbatical when he invited Elle over for a weekend. Oddly enough, he noticed, Elle had appeared to be just as tight-lipped about her family as well.

"I told you about him," she murmured, sleepily.

"You told me he planned to kidnap you and force you into marriage if you couldn't prove your success," Dick reminded her.

"He's a businessman," she offered. "He loves wheeling and dealing; schmoozing clients; negotiating a better deal."

"I meant as a father," he clarified.

Elle turned in her seat as far as the seat belt allowed, rolling her head on the headrest, until she faced him. She studied him for several, long moments before speaking. "Doting. Involved. Generous. Overprotective. Confining . . ."

"Confining?"

"It relates to his over-protectiveness."

He glanced over at her. She looked adorable. "How so?"

She rolled her head to stare out the front window. Just when Dick thought she wouldn't tell him, she spoke. "It's a long story. It stems from my mother's death."

Ouch! Dick winced. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face. "Why? _You_ didn't kill her."

Dick's brain stuttered on that statement. _What did she mean by that_? She had told him that her mother had died in a car accident. Her odd phrasing, however, made him wonder. Maybe he shouldn't delve into what must be a painful memory, but he had discovered that Elle was an expert at deflecting questions she didn't want to answer. If she didn't want to talk about it, he was positive they would be discussing the impact of foreign policies on the sale of dandruff shampoo in a few minutes . . . And he would be surprisingly fascinated by the topic, he was certain.

"How did you say your mother died? You said something about a car accident," he asked carefully, testing the waters.

Minutes ticked by. Okay, he thought. She wasn't going to deflect the question; she was simply going to refuse to answer it. His heart clenched in silent sympathy for the pain she must still be experiencing after such a devastating loss.

"That isn't entirely accurate," Elle finally answered, her voice so soft, it was only just heard over the car's engine.

"Which part," he asked. He was suddenly desperate to know more about this woman, even the sad parts.

"The accident part."

He looked at her. She was staring at the buildings moving past the passenger side of the window. "It wasn't an accident," he said.

A sigh. "No."

He didn't say anything. For a long moment, she didn't either.

Her hand moved over his on the gear shift. "I never told anyone that before. No one knows . . . th-that it was anything other than an accident."

A horrible suspicion made its presence known inside Dick's head. "Elle. How do you know it wasn't an accident?" He glanced over at her again. The sunlight sparkled like diamonds against the tears on her cheek.

_God, he was such an asshole_! He looked and found a place to pull off. He turned into a parking garage, pausing only to get the ticket, and driving straight to the top. Only five cars were parked there. Dick parked in the corner farthest from the small cluster of vehicles.

He turned in his seat to face her. She was even beautiful when she cried. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, hurting for her; with her. He took her hand in both of his, just holding it between his; keeping it warm.

"You were there, weren't you?"

She nodded, but still refused to look at him.

"You said you were . . ."

"Seven," she answered. "I was seven."

She was a year younger than he had been when he watched his own parents die. Sixteen years ago . . . Dick's breath caught, as a thought flashed across his mind. Her mother was killed the same year that his parents had died! He had been eight at the time; she had been seven! She had never told anyone what she had just told him seconds ago. For sixteen years, Elle had kept a terrible secret bottled up inside her.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"It wasn't an accident," she repeated woodenly.

"You said that . . . Elle, how do you know it wasn't an accident? You were only seven years old at the time. Things might not have been the same as they would have appeared to a child."

Elle looked him in the eye. "Because I _saw_ him. I _saw_ him as he ran us off the road." Her voice was rising with each word she spoke. "I saw his _face_ as he pushed our car off the damned cliff!"

Dick sucked in his breath. "Your car went off of a cliff? Oh, my God . . . Elle, how in the hell did you survive that?"

"We missed the rocks," she was crying openly now. "Th-the car hit the water, which might as well have been rocks. My mother . . . She didn't die instantly. I don't know how she could have possibly survived the impact, but she lived long enough to tell me to swim.

"The back window across from me had shattered when the truck hit us. W-water was pouring into the car, and we sank so fast. My mother yelled at me to swim before she died. It took forever to get the seat belt unfastened. By the time I managed it, the car had sank completely beneath the waves. It was instinct that told me that the surface was up, and up meant light. I swam toward the light.

"The waves tossed me about as I hit the surface. I think I was slammed into the rocks at the base of the cliff because when we went off the cliff, there was sunlight, but when I swam around the coast to a local beach, it was dark. I don't remember much after that. When I woke up again, I was in the hospital, and my grandparents and father were sitting next to me."

Dick gaped at her. "You should have drowned. How the hell does a seven year old swim out of a submerged vehicle, get knocked unconscious by being pounded against the rocks, and then wake up hours later to swim to shore? That you survived without serious injury is a miracle in and of itself!"

Elle gave him a curious look. "Who said I survived without serious injury?"

Dick started. "I- I guess I just assumed. I mean you swam to shore. You . . . ah, don't have a limp?" He finished lamely.

Elle laughed, despite the cold that still is inside her whenever she allowed herself to dwell on memories of that time. "A limp . . . Oh, my gosh, Dick! That is so funny! _Why_ is that so funny?" Her laughter coalesced into sobs.

Dick released her seat belt and pulled her over into his lap. He held her while she soaked his shirt. He still sometimes cried like this. Every so often, when the memory of their deaths become suddenly poignant; becomes sharp, like a razor, and the pain is a fresh as the night it happened.

While he felt a little bad at bringing such a painful memory up, he had a feeling that she had never truly grieved; not in the way she should have. A moment like this could be cathartic, however, and he hoped it would allow the poisonous secret to seep out of the reopened wound in her psyche. He wondered why she hadn't told anyone that her mother's accident was actually murder. What would spur a child so young to keep such a devastating secret such as this? It wasn't something he was going to get out of her today, he was sure. As her tears slowed to a stop, he knew instinctively that so did her revelations.

_Later_, he decided. Later he would speak with her about it again.

Right now, he just needed get them to the manor. They should be able to arrive in time for lunch, and then they could meet and greet the rest of the family. Damian wouldn't be home from school until two, but she could still meet Tim and Alfred right away. He was certain that once the introductions had been made, that Elle's bad memories would fade into the background again . . . until they could talk about it in safety and privacy.

Someone had hurt her; a murderer never caught. Dick couldn't help but be determined that he would somehow find her mother's killer for her. As she calmed enough to slip back into her own seat, he put the car in gear and returned to his previous route.

By the time, they rolled to a stop in front of the manor, Elle was completely back to normal. Dick had brought up his theory on how foreign policy dictated the price of dandruff shampoo, and it was as he expected: Elle had taken the oddball topic with exaggerated relief and ran with it. It was just as fascinating a conversation as he predicted it would be.

* * *

><p>Elle was smiling again. She felt lighter than she had earlier, thanks to her crying jag; no tension was left. She also felt intense relief to have shared a portion of her burden with someone who cared, and yet who was also removed from the situation. She was amazed that the truth had come out at all since her throat always seemed to close up every time she was asked to recall that incident. Still, she wasn't ready to admit all there was to the story. That was a topic for another day.<p>

"Thank you," she told him, most sincerely.

"For what," he asked.

"For being you." Elle leaned over the gear shift and kissed him.

Passion mixed with relief was apparently quite the stimulating thing. Her hand slipped up to cup his face, even as his hands pulled her closer. They didn't even notice the door to the manor opening, or the eyes of its occupants watching . . .


	11. Meeting the Family

"Oh, I say!"

"Wow! Yeah, I'll say it, too," Tim agreed with Alfred's assessment.

"Hm," Bruce pursed his lips. He thought now they probably should have waited inside for Dick and Elle. Not that he was displeased by the show of affection; after all, the two of them likely thought they still had some modicum of privacy.

Alfred glanced at his elder charge. "I suppose that this is a promising sign."

Bruce's lips twitched at his butler's mastery of the sarcastic understatement. "Perhaps we should go back inside so as not to embarrass them."

Tim snorted. "I think we might have time to eat lunch considering that they have yet to come up for air."

"Master Timothy."

"What? It's true!" Tim shrugged. "If we're going to have to hold lunch for them, then I'm all for getting this party started right now."

Tim was moving before he finished speaking, bounding down the steps to the car. "Hey! Welcome home, big brother! C'mon, let the girl breathe, why don't you?" He smacked the top of the roof with the flat of his hand.

The two practically leapedt apart, startled by Tim's appearance. One could even detect the blush on Elle's face through the tinted windshield. She covered her face briefly with her hand, obviously mortified. Dick was frowning with rare displeasure at his brother.

"Tim," Bruce called, wanting to mitigate the damage. He didn't want this girl to feel uncomfortable here before she could walk through the front door. He was sort of hoping that she would become a regular fixture in his eldest son's life. "Leave them be."

Tim just smirked, and opened Elle's door. He offered his hand to her, gallantly. "My name is Tim, pretty lady. I'm the handsome one."

Bubbling laughter floated out of the car, and everyone present smiled in response to the infectious sound. It followed closely by Elle herself as she allowed Tim to hand her out. Her face was bright pink, but she didn't appear put out by their prying eyes. "I'm pleased to meet you," Elle smiled, gracious even to the source of her embarrassment.

Tim suddenly looked as though someone had struck him in the head with a two-by-four. He lost his tongue, and stood gaping at the young woman in front of him; his hand still holding hers.

Dick hopped out of the other side of the car with alacrity. He might be annoyed, but Elle's easy manner had gone a long way to dispelling it. He bumped his brother out of the way comically, and took Elle's arm in his as Tim nearly went sprawling.

"Hey," he yelped. Turning around, he glared at his brother. "I tell you what, Dick, I am sick of you having all the luck! I don't understand how you do it."

Dick smirked, and tucked Elle a little closer to his side. "That's just one of my pesky, little brothers," he teased.

"He doesn't look all that little to me," she commented. Tim was the same height as Dick. He looked to be in his mid to late teens, so he still had growing to do. 'Little' was obviously nothing but an honorary term.

"I was talking about his brain," Dick winked, to ease the sting of his joke.

Tim snorted. "Ha-ha," he said, sarcastically.

"Be a good little brother and fetch our bags out of the car, if you please," Dick told him.

Tim made a face, but turned to do what his brother had asked.

Dick led Elle toward the steps, and towards Bruce and Alfred. "Here is the most important person you are going to meet today," he said, stopping in front of the butler. "Elle, this is Alfred. He's Bruce's butler, chauffeur, maid, chef, nurse, etcetera, etcetera . . . And on top of all of that, he is a friend and a confidant, not to mention, family. Oh, and here's an important little hint: Alfred knows _everything _about anything in this house! Alfred, this is Miss Arabella Hamilton."

Alfred gave a short bow in greeting. "Miss Hamilton, it is a great pleasure. If you have a need while staying in this house, please do not hesitate to call upon me."

"Thank you, Alfred. Please, though, Miss Hamilton is too formal. You may call me Elle," she told him.

"Perhaps we might compromise. Would you mind if I called you Miss Arabella?"

Elle nodded. "Okay. Yes, that would be acceptable."

"And, of course, you remember this guy," Dick motioned in Bruce's direction.

Elle grinned. "Mr. Wayne . . . Oh, I mean, Bruce. Yes, of course. Thank you for opening your home to me. It is beautiful estate; what I have seen of it."

Bruce bowed gallantly over her hand, then stole Dick's place by her side; tucking her hand into his arm and leading her inside. "You are welcome, of course. Please, come inside. Alfred has a luncheon prepared for us. You both must be famished."

As Bruce led Elle into the manor, Dick helped Tim with the bags. Alfred paused by the door as the boys moved to pass him. He stopped them.

"An uncomfortable topic, perhaps," he began. Especially after what they had just witnessed, he thought. "But I was unsure as to where to put the young Miss. I prepared the room next to yours, however, just in case."

Dick felt his face heat. "The room next to mine is great, Alfred. Thanks."

Their relationship hadn't progressed that far. Elle was still an innocent, he was positive, despite the passion in their kisses and embraces. He hadn't really planned that far in advance, and thought it would be best to take it slow and easy. He would let Elle call the shots in this area. Besides, Dick didn't really want their first time, whenever it came, to be at the manor. Talk about awkward . . .

Alfred looked pleased with that information, causing Dick another blush. "Very good, sir. Don't linger, for I will be serving lunch momentarily."

Come on, Timmy," Dick carried Elle's two bags, and Tim carried Dick's one small bag. He didn't really need much since he kept clothes here, and Alfred always made sure his bathroom had all the toiletries stocked.

* * *

><p>Lunch was a festive affair despite the initial awkwardness. While Elle didn't volunteer much in the way of information, she would answer questions. Only once did Dick catch her smoothly changing the subject when the topic became one she didn't want to talk about. If he hadn't been watching for it, he might not have noticed it, so expertly did she do it. Conversation flowed like the lemonade that Alfred served with their meal.<p>

"You said that you were from Chicago," Bruce began.

Elle was already ahead of him. "Yes, I am related to Cedric and Aidan Hamilton of Hamilton Industries out of Chicago; my father and my brother, respectively."

Bruce smiled. "You must get asked that a lot, I take it?

Elle shrugged delicately. "Occasionally."

"I don't believe I've had the opportunity to meet either man," Bruce commented. "Amazingly enough, our business interests have never managed to align as yet."

"Poppa has said much the same thing," Elle agreed. "I believe he would love to work with Wayne Enterprises on a project, but nothing has ever come up. Whatever business interests you might have in common, you have both been going in different directions at any given time."

"Are you very involved in the family business," he asked.

Elle shook her head, her cheeks pinking slightly. "No, my talents and interests do not lie in the family business."

"Speaking of talents," Bruce said, "yours is amazing! I am surprised that no recording company has snatched you up."

Elle's eyes met Dick's. Smiling, she admitted, "The Halloween party tonight is hosted by Starburst Recording Studios here in Gotham. Promising local talent as well as big name celebrities will be there by invitation only. They will provide all the entertainment tonight; performing alone and together in impromptu jam sessions for the record producers and the other guests."

"Jam sessions," Tim asked, curious. "What are jam sessions?"

"Are you kidding me? You've never heard of the term, Tim," Dick asked, surprised.

He shrugged. "My interests aren't musical in nature. I like good music, sure," he added, not wanting to offend his brother's new girlfriend. He kind of liked her. "But, it isn't the most important thing in my life. I guess I just never paid that much attention."

Elle explained. "Jam sessions are when a group of musicians get together to play or sing. There is little to no practice involved. There are always a few that have never worked together at all, so there is opportunity for magic to happen. While it is a lot of fun, it's also a way of networking within the business."

"And you've received an invitation after only a few months? That's quite an accomplishment and a testament to your talent. I'm certain that you will blow them all away," Bruce assured her.

Elle beamed at him. "Why thank you, Bruce. That is a lovely compliment."

Bruce blinked a few times, and then ducked his head pretending to concentrate on finishing his dessert for a moment. The girl simply shone at times, and in a way that was reminiscent of the way Dick could; the way Bruce had observed him doing when Elle was around. He had noticed and worried about the way the darkness had seemed to be creeping up on his eldest child, partly because of his line of work, and partly because, Bruce thought, of his unhappiness in his personal life. But Elle, he noted, was capable of pushing back his son's darkness. Something for which he was most grateful.

Dick tilted his head at her. "But you are going to perform in costume? How will those producers know who you are?"

"We have been assigned numbers with our invitations. If the producers like you, they will mark your number, and you will be contacted later by the studio for a private demo," Elle told him.

"It's almost time for Damian to come home," Dick announced, earning a groan from Tim. They had been talking for over an hour.

"Damian is your youngest brother," Elle asked, for clarity.

"Yes. But . . . Um, he's not your typical eleven year old," Dick felt the need to give her a warning.

"Dick Grayson: Master of the Understatement," Tim crowed.

"Tim," Bruce warned.

Tim scoffed. "Whatever, Bruce. It isn't like she's not going to find out within the first two minutes that he walks through the front door."

Elle glanced at the three men, uncertain. Her curiosity was sparked. It was only then that she noticed that Alfred had been missing for the last hour that the four of them lingered through dessert and coffee. He must have gone to pick up Damian from school. She peeked at her watch, as unobtrusively as possible; ten minutes until two o'clock.

* * *

><p>Damian dragged his feet. Normally, he was anxious to see Grayson; excited that he was planning to spend the weekend at the house. But this time, his time wouldn't be for his little brother. This time, it would be for some <span><em>girl<em>!

Not that Damian needed Grayson's attention! Damian didn't need anyone, but it was less than terrible when the two of them could spar together. Grayson's acrobatics made him a decent opponent, challenging Damian's reflexes and speed in order to land a blow. And having him on patrol always seemed to make the night more interesting . . . Except that this time, Grayson wouldn't be sparring _or_ going on patrol with them because of _her_!

"Come along, Master Damian," Pennyworth attempted to spur his youngest charge to move faster. "Master Richard has someone he wants you to meet."

"Maybe I don't want to meet anyone," Damian mumbled, under his breath.

"What was that," Pennyworth looked back at him from the top step.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"I don't think I need to remind you that mumbling is considered to be rude, young sir," Pennyworth advised him. "The young woman is waiting. Polishing up your best manners would be appreciated."

Damian kept his mouth shut. What was that saying that Pennyworth had told him not long after he came to stay with Father? _If you haven't anything good to say, don't say anything at all_?

What was wrong with these people? Hadn't Grayson learned his lesson with Gordon? Father had seen the results of that when Gordon had foolishly turned her back on Grayson. Damian had overheard his quiet conversation with Pennyworth on the matter. Why would Father be encouraging this behavior? It would only be a matter of time before this girl dumped his brother, too! Then maybe he would learn his lesson and stop wasting his time with silly females, and start spending it with the people who actually matter . . . Like _him_!

"I think I should go straight to my room, Pennyworth," he said. "I-I have lots of homework this weekend to attend to. I have to write a report on the . . . uh, the mating rituals of . . ." Damian's eyes darted around for inspiration. There! A rodent was sitting on the stone railing nibbling on some seed he had found. "The North American ground squirrel," he finished triumphant.

He raised his eyes to find Pennyworth staring at him with one quirked eyebrow. Damian huffed in frustration. The butler seemed hardly impressed, and not entirely convinced. He readjusted his backpack over his shoulder and trudged to the door.

He hadn't stepped more than a few feet into the foyer than he was converged on. Apparently the lot of his family had been in the process of making their way into the living room when he had entered. There would be no escaping to his room unannounced now.

"Dami!" Grayson walked over to him, grinning from ear to ear; a bounce in his step that hadn't been there just a month ago.

When Grayson didn't stop at a reasonable distance, Damian realized that he was in danger of receiving a hug. He backpedaled until he bumped into Pennyworth who had entered right behind him.

"Stop," Damian yelled, holding up his hand and causing Grayson to skid to a halt just a foot in front of him. "Grayson, must you insist upon these ridiculous displays of physical affection whenever you come to visit?"

The flash of hurt in those bright, blue eyes made Damian stomach clench in shame. His mouth tightened. He glanced over Grayson's shoulder to avoid the pain he had evoked, and found himself looking directly at the cause of his bad behavior. She was looking at him with a slight smile and a curious expression. It was clear that she was hopeful of getting the opportunity to know him. Well, it was never going to happen!

He scowled at her, in warning; to let her know that he wasn't fooled by her act. She was here to create a rift in his world; to destroy the fragile place he had found for himself. She was going to take Grayson away from him, and nothing would ever be the same again!

"That was _your_ fault," he snarled at her.

She looked a little startled by his words. Good! Maybe she would go home now! B-but she would likely take Grayson with her when she went . . .

"Damian!" Father barked.

"Master Damian!" Pennyworth exclaimed.

To make matters worse, Drake stood behind her, his expression unsurprised. He shook his head sadly.

It was already starting! She hadn't said a word yet, and already his place in the world was crumbling around him. "This is all _your_ fault! Why did you have to ruin everything," he yelled at her.

Damian darted around everyone, dodging hands. Father caught his backpack as he went by, but Damian shrugged it off and took the stairs at a run.

Dick turned to Elle, certain he would have to ease hurt feelings, but she was watching Damian's retreat with an unreadable expression on her face. Sympathetic, maybe, but something else . . . The wheels were turning, and he found himself wondering what it was she was thinking about.

"I apologize for the boy," Bruce was saying. "I'm not sure what came over him." He looked at Alfred. "Did something happen at school?"

Alfred raised a shoulder, baffled. "Not to my knowledge, sir. He seemed to become more and more withdrawn the closer we got to home."

"It's all right," Elle interrupted. "He didn't hurt my feelings. Just leave him be. He'll calm down, and we'll be best friends before you know it." At their incredulous expressions, she smiled. "Well, maybe not on this visit . . ." she admitted, sheepishly.

Bruce was shaking his head. "His behavior was inexcusable."

"Perhaps, but it was understandable," Elle shrugged. At the circle of startled expressions, she explained. "I'm the interloper. He sees me as a threat to his perfectly structured world. Forcing him to be nice to me will likely embed those feelings more deeply. Just let him be. We'll either work things out ourselves in our own time, or his world will eventually right itself on its own."

"You've taken psychology?" It was a question and yet it wasn't.

"Well, yes," Elle's lips quirked. "But I was going more on instinct. It's amazing what kids will see as a threat to their world, and an impediment to their happiness. Either way, it's okay. I'm not so fragile that the anger management issues of an eleven year old will break me."

The four men exchanged looks. They _hoped_ that the anger management issues of this particular eleven year old wouldn't break her.

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Dick suggested.

Elle smiled. "That would be a great idea. I got the impression that he was worried about you not having time for him anymore. I would never want to get between you and your family. He should know that."

At that moment, Dick thought that he might have fallen even farther into love than he already had with this woman. His head was still telling him that it was too soon; but his heart . . . His heart knew the first time she had walked out on stage to sing.

He didn't know if she felt the same way or not . . . not for certain, anyway. But there was this something that he saw in her eyes when she looked at him that made him feel on top of the world, and he knew he would always feel this way for as long as she continued to look at him in just that way.

* * *

><p>Elle watched Dick follow the path of his youngest brother, and allowed herself to feel hopeful. She knew that accepting Dick meant accepting his family and all of their quirks and skeletons. Her grandmother told her this. What is important to him must become important to you, she said . . . and vice-versa. If that doesn't work, then nothing else will.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>There will be another chapter posted before one on Saturday afternoon (1213/2014). Are you curious as to what costume Elle brought for Dick to wear for the party?  
><strong>


	12. The Cheap Knock-Off

Elle handed Dick the box from her luggage. "I know it is early yet, but I'd like to see if the costume fits you. I'm hoping this is your size. But I warn you, it isn't very good quality. I would have bought something online, but I wouldn't have been able to get it in time. Just tell me if it will do."

"At this rate, I suppose it will have to do," Dick said, taking the box from her. It was only a few hours until they would need to leave.

"I want to see it on you first," she winked at him. "I'm pretty sure that you can make anything look great!"

Dick laughed, and took the box into his room.

* * *

><p>"Alfred? Where's Bruce," Dick poked his head into the kitchen twenty minutes later.<p>

Alfred turned from where he was marinating the chicken for dinner. It was more the sound of Dick's quiet desperation, than the question itself that had him doing a visual check on his charge. But all he could see was the young master's head and the edge of his bathrobe.

"Is there a problem that I might help you with, Master Richard," Alfred inquired. There certainly sounded like a problem.

"No, no, nothing you can help with," Dick assured him quickly. "I just need to speak to Bruce. It's kind of important."

Again, the measured panic that was the undertone of his words had Alfred stepping towards the young man. To his astonishment, Dick moved back, until only the edge of his face was visible.

"I see," although he really didn't. Alfred answered anyway. "I believe Master Wayne is in his study. Are you certain that I . . ."

"Yep, I'm sure, Alfred," Dick interrupted. "Thanks!"

He left so fast that the door continued swinging. Alfred stared a moment longer before returning to his dinner preparations, but Dick's reaction had bothered him.

* * *

><p>Dick walked into the study quietly, shutting the previously open door behind him. He didn't want any interruptions.<p>

"Bruce?"

Bruce looked up from his reports. He might have taken the day off from the office, but seldom did his work stay behind. It usually would follow him home, as it did this time.

"What's up, chum?" He was startled to see Dick standing before him in his dressing gown, the one that covered him from neck to mid-calf. Dick was clutching the neck of the robe closed.

"Bruce," the control Dick had managed to exert over his panic was wavering dangerously. "I need to borrow one of your Bat suits."

Bruce blinked. "What?" He checked to verify the door to the study was closed.

"Please, Bruce," Dick could hear the desperation in his own voice. "I need to borrow one of your Bat suits. Just for tonight!"

"I thought that was what you said," Bruce frowned. "I thought you were going to that party tonight."

"I am," Dick verified.

"I would have thought, if you planned a patrol afterwards, that you would have brought your own . . . uniform."

"No, not for patrol." Dick stepped forward, as if that might make Bruce more inclined to grant his request.

Bruce leaned back in his chair. "I think you better explain, chum."

Dick sighed. "Elle rented a costume for me to wear. Let's just say that it isn't suitable for public consumption, and leave it at that."

"Wait. Let me get this straight," Bruce now leaned forward, elbows on his desk, and spoke in low tones. "You want to wear a Bat suit to this Halloween party? A _REAL_ Batman suit?" His eyes flitted back to the closed door.

Dick frowned at him. "Unless you have a Superman costume stashed somewhere, then yes, that's what I want!"

"Impossible!" Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was Dick sweating? It wasn't that hot in here.

"Bruce, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation here," Dick argued. "Elle rented me a Batman costume to wear. Apparently, this party is themed, and I have to go as a superhero. You heard her the other night! No one is admitted without a costume! I cannot go in the one she provided. It-it doesn't fit properly, and its quality is . . . um, questionable at best. I need to borrow a Batman costume if I am to take her tonight."

Bruce was already shaking his head. "No. Sorry, chum. I can't have my son showing up at a party wearing an actual Batman costume. I think you can understand why! Even an imbecile would be able to figure out that one of us is Batman from that one glaring clue!"

"Bruce, please! It doesn't have to be a current one." Dick was begging! He was actually begging! "Let me use one of the older costumes, like the one from eight or ten years ago!"

"It's too dangerous!"

"Bruce . . ."

"Dick, _**enough**_!" Bruce yelled, slamming his palms down on top of his desk.

Dick's face flamed red. His desperation had morphed into anger. Maybe in any other situation, he would have agreed with his mentor, and let it go, but this was different.

Unable to come up with another viable argument without a visual, Dick yanked off his bathrobe and threw it across the desk. He jerked the cowl up and over his head, and stood before the man he thought of as a father; arms extended for full dramatic effect!

Bruce's eyes widened. One hand made its way up to cover his gaping mouth. After a moment, he turned his chair to face the wall, away from the sight of Dick in what had to be the absolute worst Batman costume of all time!

"Are you _laughing_ at me?" Dick accused him, boggling at the idea. "You _are_ laughing, aren't you? Of course, you're laughing – _**Look**_ at me!"

Bruce turned back around. One hand was up, pinching the bridge of his nose in a desperate attempt to help him regain control. His shoulders were shaking, and –Were those tears sliding down his face? Suddenly his other hand came up out of his lap holding his cell phone.

**SNAP!**

Dick's shoulders slumped, his arms dropping back to his side. "That's your answer? Taking a picture of me at my lowest moment . . ."

"A-at least y-your (snicker) face is covered . . ." Bruce wiped at his eyes.

Indeed it was, Dick thought grimly. His cowl, cape, gloves, and boot spats – Yes! Boot spats! - were made of cheap naugahyde! He didn't even know they made naugahyde anymore! The rest of his costume was one piece and made of spandex; the quality of which became glaringly clear when Dick's fingers had torn through the material when forcing the leg over his upper thigh; leaving a large hole with an even larger run down the leg.

The tear wouldn't have happened had the costume fit properly in the first place, but no . . . The worst feature the costume had wasn't the lemon yellow, plastic utility belt, or the slightly lopsided bat symbol across the chest, or even the hot, cheap, pleather that made up the cape and cowl. No, the _worst_ feature of the costume was the fact that it had been made for a man who, very likely, had never darkened the door of a gymnasium! To say the costume was too tight would have been an understatement. It was _obscene_!

The crotch rode up and left nothing to the imagination. In fact, it seemed to rejoice in the fact that he was male, and wanted the world to know it . . . _Even his nipples showed through the material_! It might have redeemed itself had the knee-length cape been capable of wrapping around him completely, but alas, it was not to be. He tried pulling it forward, but it only seemed to make his junk even more glaringly obvious, as though it was framing it.

The cowl was, of course, as small as the rest of the costume. It didn't cover the tip of his nose, and the eye holes were, while large enough, too high up. Dick couldn't see anything below the height of his waist. If he looked down, the mask rode up until the eye holes rested over his forehead.

He glared at Bruce. "You would send _me_, whom you claim to love as a son, out into public wearing this?"

"Dick . . ." Bruce couldn't even complete the sentence.

He was laughing openly now, not even trying to hide the fact. He couldn't seem to catch his breath enough to speak. The Joker wouldn't need a serum if he had this costume . . . People would laugh themselves to death without any hint of chemical or poison. And that thought sent Bruce into another spasm of hilarity.

A crash of the door being thrown open was their only warning as Tim and Damian burst into the room.

"Bruce!"

"Father!"

Whatever the argument had been was forgotten as Tim slid to a stunned halt immediately upon sighting Dick. Damian grunted as he slammed into his brother's back.

"Damn it, Drake," he yelped. He shoved the older boy aside, only to freeze as he took in the tableau in front of them.

Tim burst into laughter, bending over and holding his sides.

"Grayson, what the hell . . . ?" No one thought to correct Damian's language, or, if they did, could have managed it while in the midst of paroxysms of uncontrollable mirth.

"Oh, great! This is just fantastic," Dick threw up his arms in frustration. The ripping sounds that accompanied the sudden movement were loud enough to hear over Tim's guffaws. Bruce's laughter had disintegrated into wheezes.

Dick continued to hold his arms up as he stared in disbelief at the two new, large holes that had sprung underneath of his armpits.

**SNAP! **

**SNAP!**

Dick's head swiveled at the sound. Both Tim and Damian were admiring the picture they had taken just seconds ago with their own phones. Tim had just collapsed on the couch, weak with laughter. Damian snorted with repressed laughter.

"Grayson, take that off! You look ridiculous! I swear, if you attempt to walk out the front door wearing that, I will seriously have to consider killing you." He took another picture.

"Oh, my word . . ." Alfred breathed from the doorway. He had only been following the sounds of mayhem, hoping to catch the boys before they interrupted what he had assumed was a serious conversation. He had been unprepared for the scene playing out in front of him.

Dick shoved the cowl off of his head. He couldn't see with it on anyway. His humiliation was complete. Dick turned back to the desk. Bruce, at least, was just beginning to regain control of himself as he wiped his streaming face with the back of his sleeve.

A gasp from the doorway, caused everyone to turn in surprise.

Elle stood beside Alfred, her face a combination of shock and horror as she saw Dick standing in that monstrosity she had bought for him. She, however, didn't see the humor. What she saw was the man she was falling in love with being laughed at and ridiculed by his family because of a terrible decision on her part.

Her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes grew moist. This was all her fault! Damian had been right about that. Dick's blush deepened at the sight of her.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," she whispered. Louder, "Dick, I am so, so sorry! I should have known. I mean, I saw how awful it was, but I thought that maybe it wouldn't looks so bad on you . . . I looked everywhere," she said. "I searched and searched, but couldn't find anything suitable that would have gotten here in time."

She moved into the room, stopping just a couple of feet from Dick. "You can't wear that," she said, shaking her head. "Please, take it off."

She turned to his brothers who were still snickering. "Please, don't laugh at him! This is my fault." She pulled out her own phone, but instead of taking a picture, she began to text.

"What are you doing," Dick asked.

"I'm sending my regrets," she explained, as she typed. "You can't wear that, and I refuse to go without you."

Dick frowned, taking her hand before she could hit send. "But you were looking forward to this. The producers were going to be there to hear you . . ."

She sighed. "There will be other opportunities . . . I won't go without you." Elle had been willing to go alone weeks ago, but not now.

"Elle . . ."

"You won't have to," Bruce interrupted. "I remember that I had a Batman costume made up for a masquerade several years ago. I ended up not going, but I put some effort and a boatload of money into the costume. It seems a shame to let it collect dust when it was meant to be worn. I would have offered sooner had I known."

That last was offered to Dick. An apology. The lengths that his son was obviously willing to go to please this woman spoke volumes. Perhaps if the suit was from a decade ago . . .

"Really?" Dick looks at Bruce, unsure now.

"Really, chum," Bruce nods. "Alfred, go save the Batman's reputation and Dick's dignity, if you would."

Alfred smiled. "Very good, sir. Master Richard, I will put out the costume in your room shortly," he said before leaving.

Elle walks over to where Bruce is sitting. Leaning down, she kisses him on the cheek. "Thank you so much!"

"I think we can both agree that it was necessary," he replied.

She moved back to Dick. "Thank you. That you were willing to be embarrassed for my sake means a lot to me. I would never ask it of you, but I thank you all the same." She wipes away a lone tear that escaped. "You, Dick Grayson, are the _best_ man I have ever known."

Before he could reply, Elle goes up on her tiptoes, cups his face, and gives him a very deliberate kiss on the mouth. The room is silent as she turns and walks out.

All his energy leaving with her, Dick's shoulders slump as he, and everyone else, stares after her.

"Hmph, maybe she's not so bad, after all," Damian muses.

"Yeah, I know, right?" Tim agrees. "One of these days, Dick, you are going to have to explain to me how it is you get so lucky."

* * *

><p>Dick was standing in the foyer with Bruce, Tim, and Damian waiting for Elle to come down so they could leave. He was wearing the Batman suit of nearly a decade ago. He had carefully emptied the utility belt of all but a few items. It was bad enough that he would be going to a Halloween party in a real suit, albeit, one of the less armored ones; he didn't need to have to explain why he had all of Batman's bells and whistles as well.<p>

"Thank you again, Bruce," he was saying. "I would never have asked if I had been able to think of another viable solution."

"You're welcome, chum." Bruce laid a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Although, I must say this feels strange being on this side of the cowl," he said with a smirk.

"Do you think that anyone will realize that it's the real thing," Tim asked.

Dick shrugged, grinning. "There has to be some benefit from being the son of a billionaire. You'd think with Bruce's money, he'd be able to rent one of Batman's own costumes without anyone raising an eyebrow."

"I don't like it," Damian muttered. "Batman doesn't go to stupid Halloween parties."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not Batman, eh, Dami," Dick smiled. "Seriously, though. How do you move in this thing, Bruce? It weighs a ton!" Dick held up the edge of the cape.

"Hm, imagine wearing one that comes fully armored as well as the cape," was the billionaire's only comment.

"I wouldn't be able to move, let alone fight," Dick marveled again at how strong Bruce had to be to be as capable and effective as Batman while wearing a suit even heavier than this one. Their fighting styles were entirely different, however. The Batman's cape was far too cumbersome for Dick to be able to flip easily.

Tim mused, stating Dick's thoughts out loud. "Batman's style of fighting is far different from Nightwing's. Maybe that's why you don't see him flipping all over the place all the time."

Bruce smiled, ruffling Tim's hair like he was a child rather than a young man of eighteen. "That pretty much sums it up, kiddo."

At that moment, Alfred entered the front door. "I moved the Vanquish out front," he told Dick. "Since you said Miss Arabella liked it so much."

"Thanks, Alfred. Thank you, Bruce," Dick told him again. "She might not admit it, but this party means everything to her. Once these producers hear her voice, it'll be a straight shot to stardom. I mean, you've heard her! She's only been singing professionally for the past four months, and already she was sent an invitation to one of the most exclusive parties in Gotham."

"Oh, my God!" Elle's voice drifted out over them from the top of the stairs. "Dick, you look _amazing_!"

* * *

><p>Everyone's eyes turned to find her, and then stared. Elle grinned. Gaping, fish mouths and wide, bulging eyes was exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. She had put a lot of money and effort into her costume; designing it herself. After all, the hero she represented deserved more than a cheap knock-off such as that horrible thing she had unwittingly foisted upon Dick earlier.<p>

It was obvious that she was not the hero that she was representing. After all, she was the wrong gender for that. So with that in mind, Elle had designed a costume similar enough to honor him, but that played to her strengths. In other words, it had to look fantastic on her . . . She had thought she had succeeded before, but now she felt vindicated in her efforts.

"I . . . y-you chose _Nightwing_?" Dick stuttered.

She laughed. "Well, of course! I live in Bludhaven! I have to represent my city's very own hero."

The men as a whole moved to the bottom of the stairs so to better see her creation.

"So," A little nervous now, she hoped they approved. She couldn't very well go change into something else at this point. "What do you think? Would Nightwing approve?"

Every pair of eyes turned to look at Dick.

* * *

><p>She took his breath away . . . Again!<p>

She had chosen to go to this party as _him_! And she looked absolutely beautiful doing it!

Her modified costume was white instead of black, but had the prerequisite blue emblem that raced down her sleeves and was completed with the blue finger stripes on her white gloves. The costume was a two-piece as well; the tunic was a mini dress that ended mid-thigh, and had white sheer leggings tucked into knee-high, white boots. The costume clung lovingly to her curves, and made his mouth water.

Her mask looked like a white replica of his black one, but hers had a thin strip of blue that outlined the edges. The only things missing were the white eye lenses that most of the masks the Bat family sported. She had pulled her dark hair up into a braided ponytail high on her crown.

Damn! She looked . . . He sighed. Someone elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow! Hey!" He glanced over to find Bruce staring at him.

"She was asking for _your_ opinion," he whispered.

Oh! Dick glanced back up. Elle was making her way down the stairs, but she looked nervous. Since she didn't know he was Nightwing, Dick supposed it was really _his_ opinion that she wanted, as her boyfriend.

He moved up a few steps to meet her partway, holding his hand out for hers. He tucked her hand into his arm, and turned to walk her the rest of the way down the stairs together. "You look fantastic," he told her. "I think Nightwing would be proud to have you represent him tonight."

Bruce grinned at the sight the two of them presented. "I'm kind of surprised you didn't pick Robin as your costume, all considering."

Elle smiled up at him. "Actually, I chose this costume first since I didn't realize at the time I would be bringing a guest. But that's all right . . . I mean, Nightwing and Batman have teamed up many times according to the news reports."

Tim looked a little dreamy. "You would have made an awesome Robin," he said.

Damian made gagging sounds.

"Damian," came Bruce's warning growl.

Elle turned to look at the shortest member of the family. Would it be too much to ask for his approval? "What do _you_ think, Damian? Would Nightwing approve of me?"

Damian's eyes darted to Dick's and back to hers. Although Elle wanted to know what expression Dick had given the boy, she kept her gaze directly on his brother. The boy pursed his mouth, then dipped his gaze to the floor where he was scuffing one shoe against the marble tiles.

"You'd make a decent Nightwing, I guess," he admitted. Then, almost in the same breath, he clarified. "If one doesn't take into the account that a white costume would make you a target for the bad guys in the dark. And then your braid could be used against you should your opponent grab it and use it to jerk your head back or unbalance you. Then again, I am not aware of your fighting capabilities, which if you have none would make all the other points moot anyway."

Elle was gaping, wide-eyed at the eleven year old. Dick thought the look on her face was comical. This time he had no problem determining what she was thinking: Bruce allowed him to watch too many ninja movies before bed.

"Good thing I'm not an actual crime-fighter, then," she whispered, slightly awed at the preteen in front of her. "Um, but do I look okay, otherwise?"

Damian gave her costume one more critical view, and then nodded, sagely. "Otherwise, yes, you look pretty good," he admitted somewhat reluctantly.

Elle blew out a huge breath in relief. "Thank you, Damian. I guess I won't have to cancel my appearance, after all."

"Tt," he scoffed. Damian knew it was unlikely that Elle would have stayed home on his say so alone, especially if she had the approval of everyone else in the room. But it pleased him that she had asked for his opinion, and that she had taken it seriously. He still wasn't sure he liked her, but perhaps she wasn't _all_ bad.

* * *

><p>Everyone followed them out, reassuring them that they looked great, and wishing Elle luck. Elle turned and gave Dick a kiss on the mouth before ducking back into the beautiful Aston Martin that they had arrived in.<p>

They waved as the car disappeared down the drive, and then Tim said the thing that they were all thinking since viewing Nightwing kissing Batman on the driveway.

"That kiss looked wrong, somehow," he said, scrunching his nose in vague disgust.

Bruce burst out laughing. Slapping Tim on the back, and giving Damian a push in the direction of the door, he agreed. "You're right. That is one sight I never thought I would ever see in this lifetime."

Damian looked back at his father. "You don't think anyone will put two and two together and somehow figure out that you're Batman, do you?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not if the Batman is seen going out on an early patrol," he told them. "What say you to that?"

Tim glanced down at Damian. "Race you to the cave!"

* * *

><p><strong>This took me a little bit longer to get out than I expected, thanks to phone calls and visitors, but here it is. I hope you like it. Please, let me know what you think of the story so far and this chapter in particular. I really had fun with it! Oh, and if you would like to know which Bat suit Dick ended up wearing, look up Neal Adams' Batman. Classic . . .<br>**


	13. The Bridge

Dick drove into the city, grinning at the antics of woman at his side. Elle was so excited and nervous she was practically bouncing in her seat. The car hugged the turns as he drove around the curves down into the city.

"So, where is this being held," he asked.

"At the Empire Club," she answered.

"I've heard of it," he said. "I've never been there before, though. It's fairly recent. I think it opened about three years ago."

"Yes, that is what Randi told me. It's supposed to be huge! Three levels, a stage for live music, and a dance floor that can hold up to a hundred people. They have a private area where I heard the producers will hang out. We probably won't even see them tonight." Elle wasn't even aware that she was bending the invitation in her hands.

Dick reached over, and plucked it out of her hands. "We may still need this to get in. It would be better if we didn't have to tape it back together first. Don't you agree?"

Elle pursed her lips, and slumped back in her seat. Did she say she was impatient? "Sorry . . ."

He laughed. "You don't have to apologize to me. This is a big deal for you," he said. "It's your chance to shine!"

She sighed. "If I succeed, then Poppa will finally have to agree that I have what it takes to make it on my own."

To get to the area they needed to go, Dick would need to go through the tunnel which would bring them up near downtown Gotham. He didn't want to have to get on the beltway that circled the city. It would take them too far out of their way if they went west, and they would have to go over the bridge into Bludhaven's warehouse district if they took the beltway east. Better to just cut across the downtown area. It would be practically deserted on a weekend at this time of the evening, so even with traffic lights, they should be able to cut at least fifteen minutes off of their drive.

"Uh oh," he muttered, frowning as he neared the turnoff for the tunnel.

Brake lights warned him of a potential problem. There were a couple of police cars up ahead directing traffic past the tunnel's exit. Neither he or Elle could see far enough ahead to tell what the trouble was. As they neared the traffic officer, Dick rolled Elle's window down and leaned across the console.

"What's the problem, officer," he asked.

"Fifteen car pile-up in the tunnel. Emergency vehicles are only now getting in to the victims. You'll have to find another route," the officer said. "You will need to move . . . Oh," he gasped, startled. "Batman! Uh, . . . and, um, Nightwing?"

Elle clapped a hand over her mouth, torn between compassion for the victims of the huge accident, and the need to laugh at the poor officer's obvious befuddlement.

"Heh," Dick smiled. "No, not Batman. On our way to a big Halloween bash on the other side of the city," he explained.

The officer returned the smile, wearily. "That explains the car. It's not the Batmobile," he clarified. "Great costumes! You had me fooled there for a second. Sorry, but you'll not be getting through this way for hours yet."

"That's okay," Dick nodded. "We'll find another way. Take care out there, officer. We hope there aren't any casualties."

"That would be great if there weren't," the officer said as he waved them on.

Dick pulled back into traffic. "I guess we won't be going through town. Best bet is to head toward Bludhaven and cut across down near the docks. We can cut back into east Gotham at the Washington Street Bridge. It'll only be a few minutes out of our way. Shouldn't be busy this time of day."

Elle craned her neck to see the flashing lights of a dozen emergency vehicles that converged upon the tunnel. "I hope no one is hurt too badly," she lamented.

"They're in good hands," he reassured her, even as he said a quick prayer for the victims in his head.

* * *

><p>They were on the beltway now heading for the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge. The drawbridge was actually a swing bridge that could turn the center section sideways to allow large ships to pass through on both sides simultaneously. As they neared the bridge, however, Dick noticed flashing lights coming up fast in his rear-view mirror.<p>

"Heads up, Elle," he warned. "Looks like we have company coming up on the right."

Dick flicked his turn signal to pull into the left lane so that the police could get by. Gotham's jurisdiction ended at the bridge, however, and Dick wondered where they were going. Suddenly, an unmarked car blew past them on their left, sideswiping the Vanquish and sending it spinning out of control

"Hang on," he yelled, as he fought the car's spin.

Another car hit their front bumper from the other side, making the Vanquish slide sideways towards the bridge's railing. They slammed, front end first, into the metal rail and stopped hard! The airbags deployed upon impact. The railing they had hit creaked ominously, but held. Outside, there were sounds of vehicles screeching and metal crunching. They weren't the only ones to be hit.

Dick turned to Elle in a panic. Was she hurt?

Elle was holding a hand to her head, but the flashing police lights made it difficult to tell if the red on her glove was blood or just a reflection. She was staring out the window rather than looking at him. What . . .?

"Elle, are you all right? Elle," he asked, but her attention was elsewhere.

"Oh, God," she cried. "That car . . . It went through the railing! It's going to fall into the river!"

Dick looked past her. Sure enough, a white sedan was teetering on the precipice. There was a woman in the driver's seat. She was screaming; struggling to get her door open. Damn, and he was without anything that might help because he had emptied his utility belt of everything but a couple of smoke bombs and maybe some smelling salts!

Before he could react, Elle opened the door and jumped out of the car. Dick fumbled a second with his seat belt before he, too, was out of the car. He slid across the hood and was running after her. Faster than she was, he managed to catch her just a few yards from the wavering vehicle.

"Elle, wait! What are you doing," he yelled. "You don't know if that car might blow up at any minute!"

She looked up at him with terror-stricken eyes; blood dripping from a cut above her hairline, and abruptly his memory kicked in. _Oh shit_! Her mother died just like this. Elle had been strapped in the back seat, and had somehow miraculously survived the fall into the sea! He didn't know how high the cliff they had gone off had been, but the bridge was easily four stories above the river.

"We got to help her," Elle was screaming, pulling away; struggling to get out of his grip. "It's going to fall!"

"The police . . .," Dick began, but he saw that most of the cops were busy swarming the two cars they had been chasing.

Gunshots rang out, making him duck and pull Elle nearer the railing; hopefully away from any stray bullets.

_Shit_! He was completely out of his depth here! Nobody else would know him from Adam, but Elle knew who he was. If he tried to help, she was more than smart enough to figure out that he was more than just her boyfriend. He risked a glance and saw that Bludhaven's cops were blocking the other side of the bridge. It was only a matter of time before the perps were arrested and carted away, but instead of giving up, they seemed determined to go out in a blaze of bullet-riddled glory! Watching the car teetering on the edge of the bridge, he didn't think the woman had that kind of time.

Elle jerked out of his grip, reminding him that no one was going to be able to assist the woman until the perps were wrapped up, and the shooting stopped. He jumped up to help her. On the driver's side, they at least had the car between them and the shootout.

Elle was trying to get the driver's door opened, but the dent in the door explained why it was stuck. Dick moved Elle out of the way.

"Stay down," he ordered. Turning back, he tried to get the screaming woman's attention. "Ma'am, I'm going to break the window! Turn your head away!"

As soon as she realized what he intended, she turned her face away. Dick slammed his elbow into the window, shattering it. The safety glass prevented the whole window from giving way completely, but there was a large hole where his elbow had struck. He grabbed the glass with his hands, knowing that the gloves were made to handle sharper items than this. He tore the glass free, opening a space large enough for the woman to be pulled through. The car tipped forward ominously. Dick hurried to pull her out, before the car fell and took her with it.

"Batman, please! Save my baby," she gasped, as Dick slid her free of the dangling vehicle.

"What," Dick gasped, still holding the injured mother in his arms. His head turned back toward the car. How had he not seen the baby seat in the back?

"_No_!" Elle ran back to the car, ignoring the bullets that still were flying.

"Elle, wait!" Dick sat the woman down, and moved to follow her.

The vehicle teetered once more before sliding over the edge. Dick caught Elle by the waist. They watched helplessly as the car plunged into the river. The mother and Elle screamed. Elle tore at Dick's arm, wresting herself away from him.

His fingers only inches from reaching her, Dick stared in total disbelief as Elle dived off the edge of the bridge and into the dark water beneath.

**Sorry for the cliffhanger! I am lucky enough to have the entire weekend off, so you will get the second part of this tomorrow. You'll get at least four chapters total this weekend . . .  
><strong>


	14. The Bridge - Part 2

**There is the use of a word, I don't normally use in here. Just a head's up!**

* * *

><p>Dick kneeled at the edge of the bridge where a car just plunged four stories into the Gotham River; where his girlfriend just dived in after it in a crazy effort to save the driver's baby who was strapped into a baby seat in the back. The car had sank below the surface in less than a minute; ridiculously fast! The ripples from both the vehicle and Elle's mad dive were already gone, and the dark surface of the fast moving water was blank again. He couldn't even tell for sure where they had hit exactly anymore.<p>

Slowly, sounds reintroduced themselves to his consciousness. He became aware there was still gunfire being exchanged, and a woman weeping to his left. He realized in a vague sort of way that the detached feeling he was experiencing was symptom of shock. His mind kept replaying the last few seconds that Elle had been with him. Her running toward the edge of the bridge, determined to save a child from an impossible fate . . . His hand reaching for her, desperate to save her from certain death. _Two inches_! _Just two fucking inches_!

He needed to do something. What the hell did he need to do? The police near him were too busy to help him, and the fire department and coast guard wouldn't enter the area until the danger was gone.

Stumbling to his feet, Dick weaved his way back to Bruce's car. It was the first time Dick noticed the damage done to it. The entire right front end was demolished. The tire was bent and turned in such a way that driving on it would be impossible.

Inches, he thought, less than a foot from Elle's door. He realized that if the gunmen's car had hit them just twelve inches back, Elle might have been killed, or at least, seriously injured. But there would have been no way she could have been able to throw herself off a bridge into the freezing water below. Would that have been preferable? He didn't know. His head hurt. He was confused.

Dick walked around the $200,000 plus vehicle, and stared at the damage on the driver's side. It was more of a gouge than a scrape that reached almost bumper to bumper. He looked at the driver's seat. He wasn't even sure what it was he was seeing. His eyes stared at his phone lying in the floor beneath the steering wheel. He should call someone . . . But whom?

Bruce. He should call Bruce.

He pressed speed dial, and listened to the ringing as he stumbled back the way he came. He glanced at the woman weeping, but hadn't the desire to deal with her at the moment.

"Wayne residence," came Alfred's voice, sounding tinny over the phone.

"Alfred?" His own voice sounded odd.

"Hello? Master Richard? Is that you?"

"Alfred? She jumped," Dick felt like that was important to get out. "I tried to grab her, but . . . She jumped, Alfred."

The pause at the other end was almost undetectable. "Master Richard, are you all right?"

"I don't know what to do, Alfred . . ." Dick sat down on the ground. He ignored the gunfire around him, even though some part of him told him that there was no longer a vehicle to give him shelter.

"Dick," Alfred, realizing something terrible had happened, spoke very clearly and simply. "Who jumped?"

"Elle," he said. "I couldn't save her. I wasn't fast enough."

* * *

><p>Alfred knew that whatever had occurred was far more complicated than what the young master was able to convey at the moment. He could hear the popping sounds that he recognized to be gunfire in the background and the wailing of a distraught woman; a woman, but not Miss Arabella because . . . Miss Arabella had jumped?<p>

The butler suspected strongly that Master Richard was suffering from shock based upon the conversation he was having . . . or not having, as the case may be. The young man wasn't making much sense.

"Dick," he continued to use his charge's nickname as he seemed to get the most response from that. "I'm going to call Batman to come help you," he said. "I need you to look around you for a safe place to wait. Can you do that?"

"I can see where she dove into the water . . ."

_Water_? Alfred deduced that the young master was likely near the river. Batman would be able to listen to the police bands and determine where his lost bird was. The gunfire guaranteed that there would be chatter all over the place. Alfred turned to the den and the television. There should be a report about whatever was happening. No doubt Master Richard and Miss Arabella were right in the middle of it, he thought grimly.

He pulled his cell phone out and dialed nine-nine-nine followed by the pound sign.

"Oracle, here. Agent A?" Barbara's voice came over the line.

"Oracle, I need you to patch me through to Batman immediately." Alfred continued to listen to the pandemonium that was coming through the phone, but Master Richard had gone quiet. He ignored the thrill of fear that his charge had somehow taken a stray bullet or passed out from shock.

"Of course," she said. "What's going on?"

"What is happening down by the river," he asked. Oracle always monitored the police bands so as to best direct Batman to where he was most needed.

"A car chase that ended with a shootout. It's still going on. Who knows how much ammo these crazies had with them in the car. According to reports, the police have only managed to put one of the gunmen out of action," she said. "Batman," Alfred heard her speaking on another line. "I have Agent A. I'm patching you through."

"Agent A?" Batman growled. "What has happened?"

Alfred never interrupted a patrol unless some disaster had occurred. Batman and the boys were on their way to a stand-off on the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge, even as he took his butler's call.

"Sir, I have big D on the other line," Alfred said, using the code for Dick as a civilian while on an unsecured line. "I'm not one hundred percent positive, but I believe that he and . . . E were caught up in the mess on the bridge you may have heard about. I believe he might have been hurt. He sounds as if he's in shock, so he isn't making much in the way of sense. He speaks as though something truly terrible has happened to E. I fear he may have need you."

Batman frowned. "I am already on the way there. ETA two minutes."

"I can still hear gunfire over the line. I am afraid he may not be aware enough of his surroundings to take the proper care. But then again, he's no longer responding to my questions."

"Damn it! Acknowledged, Agent A. Batman out."

Batman hit his comm link. "Red Robin," he informed Tim. "Be advised that Dick and Elle may be at the shootout. One or both may be injured."

"Dick's hurt?"

Batman shot a look at Robin. "He was able to call Agent A just a few minutes ago, so it may not be too serious."

Robin didn't look as if he believed him. Batman clenched his jaw, and pressed harder on the gas. The batmobile shot forward, going from eighty to one hundred in the space of a second. As Batman he could generally set aside personal feelings in order to get a job done, and although he tried not to, the other part of him still worried whenever one of his birds had been hurt.

* * *

><p>Elle plunged into the freezing river seconds after the car hit. There was no light to indicate which way was the surface, but she didn't need to breathe yet. The car, she could feel, was directly below her. She kicked hard to reach it. There was still time. The baby seat was rear facing, and there was a chance that the seat had mitigated the impact enough that the baby wasn't killed. She couldn't stop until she knew for sure.<p>

Although she had sliced through the water cleanly, the impact had given her a terrible headache on top of the previous headache given to her from her head impacting the passenger side window. She ignored the throbbing as best she could as she reached out in front of her. It was too dark to see the car, but she knew it was there. She just knew it!

There! Elle's finger touched metal for a second before the current swept her past the vehicle. She fought with the current for what felt like an eternity. How long had the baby been under? Elle could hold her breath crazy long, but an infant wouldn't have but a few short minutes at most.

Her fingers found a door handle. She couldn't tell what side of the car she was on, however. She tugged on the door, but even though the water pressure must have evened out by now, there was no way she could budge it by herself. She felt for the other window. It was intact. That meant she was on the passenger side of the car.

Elle felt along the vehicle, catching hold of the metal that edged the windshield; found the windshield wiper. Good! She was at the front of the car. Knowing where she was gave her a frame of reference which would make traversing the inside of the vehicle easier.

There was a thump of the car hitting the river bottom that nearly tore away her grip. God, how deep was the Gotham River? She felt pressure, but not nearly as much as she probably should. The questions that generated were pushed aside by her mission, and the idea that her senses were screwed up due to the shock of the car accident and diving into the freezing water.

The second she found the broken window, Elle pulled herself inside. She felt the steering wheel and the head rest of the driver's seat, and used them to pull herself further. She oriented herself toward the back seat. Her hand swept the area in front of her until it hit something hard. The baby's car seat!

Elle felt frustration as she couldn't figure out the belt that strapped the child in. She suddenly feared that the device that might have saved the child from the fall would now contribute to its death. Her hand found the adult seat belt next. Familiarity allowed her to release it. If she couldn't pull the child from the car seat, she would take the seat with her.

She found the infant's face. How long had it been without oxygen? The baby needed her air more than she did at this point. Elle pressed her mouth over the child's nose and mouth, creating a seal, and breathed. It was difficult. How much water had the baby inhaled? She pushed back the panic, and struggled to fit the seat into the front of the car and out the window.

Immediately, she pushed off from the car's roof; away from the vehicle, instinctively knowing this way was up! Surely she would need to breathe soon! What if she had saved the baby only for both of them to drown before they could reach the surface? Despite her exertion, she only felt slightly lightheaded. She kicked harder. She had to get them to the surface right now!

How long? How long? How long?

Her head broke the surface of the black water, and she gasped; pulling in much needed oxygen . . . Although, she thought she might have had it in her to go a little longer. Elle struggled to pull the car seat up. It was waterlogged and incredibly heavy, and it took some effort on her part to keep them both afloat. She hadn't swum in so long; it was amazing that she hadn't lost some of her strength over the last few months. She used to swim every day for hours!

Was the baby breathing? She pulled the child to her and pushed air into its lungs once more, twice, three times! The infant convulsed, vomiting up water, and coughing spasmodically. Oh, thank God! Elle breathed for it once more, forcing more of the life-giving oxygen into its little lungs! More coughing followed, and then a glorious cry! The cry was weak, but it was as beautiful to Elle's ears as any music she had ever heard.

For the first time, Elle looked around her. Where was she? The bridge was no longer above her. She turned around in the water, straining to see some outline to give her an idea how far the current had pushed them. There! The flashing lights of the police cars crowding the bridge! Elle was shocked by how far they had traveled; _were_ _still_ traveling! It was difficult in the dark, but the bridge was getting further and further away!

Elle began swimming for the closest shore. The shoreline was invisible in the dark, but she felt positive that she was heading in the right direction. She should be exhausted, she thought, but she still had more than enough energy to make it. Must be the adrenaline coursing through her system . . .

Minutes or hours later, Elle was dragging the baby's seat out of the water. She dropped to her knees, and fiddled with the latch until it finally sprang free. It had taken too long. Had she continued to struggle with it in the vehicle, the child would have died! But the baby was alive!

New energy flooded her as elation coursed through her veins! Unfortunately, a stiff wind blew across the river, making them both shiver. The baby's cry warbled. She gathered the child up in her arms to share her heat with it as best she could, and stumbled to her feet. She wasn't about to lose this baby to hypothermia after all she had just gone through to save it from a watery grave. She began making her way up the embankment in the direction of the lights. The poor mother must be going out of her head with grief right now.

She gasped; her head jerking up to stare at the lights. Dick! Oh, God, what must he be thinking? That she had jumped to her death, surely! Faint popping sounds could now be heard. Was the shootout still going on? The stray bullets that hadn't concerned her before now pulled to the forefront of her brain. What if he were hit by one? What if he were, even now, bleeding out on the bridge? Would he fight the darkness? Or would he, in despair, allow himself to be pulled under?

She picked up her pace, tripping and stumbling, until she stood on the semi-flat surface on top of the embankment. While she didn't have it in her to run, Elle began to jog. Slowly at first, and then picking up speed, she fell into a rhythm. She jogged hunched over the infant in her arms. The movement helped to warm her, and allowed her, in turn, to warm the child.

* * *

><p><strong>The shock that Dick is suffering from is not from blood loss, (although injury from the crash might exasperate it) but is a type of shock called "Psychogenic Shock". Symptoms can come on quickly and last anywhere from hours to days to more than a month. A serious, but not necessarily life-threatening condition that cause low blood pressure; nausea; dizziness; fainting; confusion; rapid pulse; cold, clammy skin; and psychogenic amnesia which is most often situation specific. It is often associated with the psychological stresses of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). While Psychogenic Shock is treatable, it can often be resolved on its own. The danger of this type of shock is more from injuries sustained from fainting. <strong>

**Of course, Alfred wouldn't know this from the stilted conversation he had with Dick over the phone. **

**The rest of this will be resolved before the day is out. Check back this evening for the Bridge - Part 3. **


	15. The Bridge - Part 3

**A word not generally used will be found here – Just a head's up! Welcome to the conclusion of "The Bridge" – Part 3. Not the end of the story, just the end of the scene . . .**

* * *

><p>The Batmobile skidded to a halt at the Gotham side of the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge. The cops had the entire road blocked off, obviously to prevent the crooks from escaping. The gunfire indicated that the men were desperate enough to continue to fight although the only end for them was prison or a body bag.<p>

Batman and Robin leaped from the car and vaulted over the police cars. The officers themselves startled, but gave them no trouble. Indeed, many of them appeared relieved for the backup. Red Robin's cycle weaved through the maze of vehicles undeterred by the roadblock. He was able to pull ahead of Batman once through the line of cars.

With no supports to use, their grapple guns were worthless on the drawbridge. They had no choice but to run. Batman's longer legs allowed him to pull ahead of Robin, though not by more than a few feet. As they topped the slight rise that marked the center of the bridge, Batman could suddenly see the action ahead of him. The sounds of gunfire grew louder with each slap of his boots. The vast number of flashing lights up ahead was an epileptic's nightmare!

Despite all that was happening, Batman's eyes searched the tangle of cars that littered the bridge between them and the firefight. A few people had remained in their cars whether from fear or from injury, he couldn't tell. One or two were hunkered down on the near side of the cars, using the vehicles as protection from whatever stray bullets came their way. Most ran towards the safety of the police roadblock. He saw one or two people lying alongside their cars as well; victims of either the wreck or a bullet, he didn't know and he didn't stop to find out.

It wasn't until they neared the firefight that he recognized what was left of his Aston Martin Vanquish. It pressed against the railings of the bridge, but had been unable to punch through the stressed metal. No one was in the vehicle. Batman's eyes continued to search, perhaps a little desperately now, for a familiar figure dressed as he was.

There!

A hole in the bridge's railing marked the spot where some unlucky car had plunged to the river below. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the Bludhaven docks, was a hunched figure of a weeping woman, and near her knelt the form of Batman.

Although he knew that Dick hadn't brought any gear with him, Batman couldn't believe that he wouldn't do something to help the police take down the gunmen. Dick would think nothing about risking his own life to protect the lives of his brothers in blue, and yet, there he knelt, unmoving. Fear coursed through his veins. _Why wasn't he moving_? This was what Alfred had been trying to relay through the comm earlier, that something was wrong with Dick. He wanted to go to him immediately, but they were all at risk as long as those gunmen continued to fight.

Red Robin had joined the fray, however. Already the sounds of gunfire had decreased dramatically. The police had stopped firing in fear of hitting the young vigilante. The only guns firing now were those of the gunmen. Robin hesitated at the sight of the lone Batman figure hunched on the road, but then attacked the fight ahead of him with angry vigor; joining Red Robin in his effort to stop the gunmen for good. Already the gunfire had lessened as Red Robin neutralized one threat. One down, one vehicle of bad guys left to go. With the two boys on top of their game, this left Batman the freedom to check on his eldest son.

He moved the last few feet slowly, so as not to startle Dick. He was far too close to the edge for comfort. Any sudden movement could send him tumbling into the blackness beneath them. He held his hand out, reaching until he grasped Dick's shoulder, and pulled him back away from the hole in the rails.

"Are you okay," Batman asked, careful to not use Dick's name.

Dick looked up at him, but was unresponsive; the little skin that was exposed was incredibly pale. Damn! Batman couldn't see behind the white lenses that shielded his son's cerulean blue eyes from the world at large. He flicked up the lenses, placing his body between Dick's and the woman now behind him.

Nobody was home, he thought, fearfully. Glassy, blue eyes looked at him, but didn't see him. Batman ran his hands over the younger man, searching for signs of injury or blood. High up on one shoulder was a tear in the cloth. Blood seeped sluggishly from the minor gunshot wound. The costume hid whatever other injuries Dick might have sustained, however. No broken bones that he could tell. But there was something wrong. Dick was in shock, but the question was why?

Batman pulled the cape around his son's shoulders more closely, to block the chill from the bitter wind. The Bat suit would work to mitigate the cold. He wasn't worried about hypothermia, but shock could lower blood pressure dangerously, and warmth would help his boy's body cope.

He looked around him now. The weeping woman was moaning, but Batman couldn't tell from here what injuries she might have sustained in the car crash. He was assuming that it was her car that went through the guardrail. He looked to find other bodies, living or dead, but frowned when there was no familiar figure of Elle's white Nightwing costume anywhere.

He decided to risk it. No one was around except the woman who appeared to be near catatonic in her hysteria.

"Dick," he whispered, harshly. "Dick, talk to me! What happened?" Batman had to give him a shake, and call his name louder to reach his son through the fog. "Talk to me! What happened? Dick, where is Elle?"

The concern the young woman had exhibited for his son's feelings earlier made it difficult to believe that Elle would run away and leave him in such a state. But then again, people often acted out of character in life-threatening situations. Perhaps she was just fine, sitting in the back of one of the patrol cars he had passed coming in. But it didn't feel right to him; that scenario.

"Dick, Where is Elle?"

As he watched, Dick's eyes focused on him. His son frowned as if confused, and then crumpled into despair. "S-she . . . she jumped." Dick stammered. "The car fell, and she jumped in after it."

Batman's head jerked around to stare at the broken guardrail in disbelief. They were easily four-stories up! Perhaps she fell in, because he could not imagine a scene in which a woman would willingly throw herself into a freezing river from this height unless she was mentally unstable enough to commit suicide. Batman knew he was not so bad a judge of character or unable to read people that he wouldn't have pegged Elle as a suicide in seconds of meeting her.

"You mean that she fell in?" Batman felt the need to clarify. He would have to see the Commissioner about getting the river dragged. God! Dick had just found her . . . What kind of cruel bitch was Fate to take the woman away from his boy so soon?

"She jumped," Dick began yelling. "She jumped in after the car! She jumped!"

Batman blinked at Dick's vehemence. His story didn't change, however, despite his obvious mental confusion. "Why would she jump? I'm assuming the woman over there is the one from the vehicle. Why would Elle jump when the woman is safe?"

"The baby," he muttered, his mouth turning down miserably. "She went in after the baby."

Batman's eyes widened. That would explain a lot. If there was a child still in the car, Elle might have mistakenly thought she could save it. He had never guessed when he got up that morning that he would be ending the day with two bodies; those of a child and the woman Dick had fallen in love with.

"I couldn't reach her," Dick cried. "I tried, Bruce! _Two inches_! I missed her by only_ two fucking inches_!"

Batman slapped a glove hand over his son's mouth. He glanced around, but they were safe at the moment. No one was close enough to hear, not even the mother. But he needed to get Dick out of here before he inadvertently blurted out anyone else's secret identity.

"Shh, I know you tried. I'm so sorry, son," he crooned softly in Bruce's voice. Dick leaned his head against Batman's shoulder as if the energy he needed just to remain upright had all but failed him.

Dick nodded. Bloody tears leaked from beneath the cowl. _Ah_, Batman thought, _there was the other injury_. The cowl had hidden it from view, and the material must have absorbed a good amount of the blood, until the tears had given it away. He wanted to push the cowl out of the way, but he had already acted so far out of character that he couldn't risk it. People would notice the person that Batman had singled out for special attention, the person he chose to help instead of confronting the crooks; the person he had passed others by to reach.

The gunfire had ceased. Batman hadn't even noticed when that had happened, so intent on Dick he had been. But as he looked up, he could see Robin and Red Robin trotting up to them, concern written across both of their faces so blatantly that no mask could hide it.

"How is he," Red Robin asked as soon as he was close enough he didn't need to shout.

"In shock," Batman explained. "Grazed by a bullet, and a possible head injury beneath the cowl. I cannot be certain of any other injuries until we get him home."

Robin stood closer than he needed to, but otherwise remained silent. Worried though he may be, Damian was more likely to deny the emotion than to make a scene.

Red Robin was searching the area. "Where's Elle," he asked, quietly so as not to be overheard.

Not wanting to explain out loud, Batman tilted his head in the direction of the river. Batman could almost see Tim eyes widen behind his lenses. He ran over to the edge of the bridge and looked down.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, horrified. "Are you kidding me?"

"the gunmen are taken care of," Batman asked, verifying what he already surmised.

"Yes," Robin answered finally. "There were gunmen in both cars; three in each. The police are taking them away even now."

Batman nodded. "We need to get him home. He's too confused at the moment to be trusted not to call any of us by name."

"But what about . . .," Red Robin waved a hand at the dark waters.

"Later. I'll call the Commissioner and make arrangements. Go get your bike, and meet us back at the cave," Batman instructed.

A commotion sounded behind them, in the direction of Gotham. People were cheering. Three of the masked men exchanged glances. What was going on now?

In a moment, they could see a white figure making its way toward them at a trot. A policeman came running up to her, blanket in hand. He wrapped the green material around her shoulders. He tried to take whatever it was she was hunched over from her arms, but she jerked away from him. When she looked up, the now familiar white mask greeted them. She started running.

"Elle?" Dick was staring at the miracle making her way toward them. "_Elle_!" He pulled away from the supporting arms of Batman and Robin, and began running. Alert now when only moments before he had been almost completely unresponsive.

Batman and Robin moved quickly to catch up. News reporters were making their way around the police barricade now that the danger had passed. They had only moments to secure the two before their secrets were broadcasted across television screens citywide.

The fog of despair that had been clouding Dick's mind lifted at the sight of a soggy, dripping figure with his emblem emblazoned on the front of her tunic. Part of his mind was questioning how it was she was alive, but the rest of him simply rejoiced that God had given her back to him, apparently none the worse for wear. As he neared her, he saw yet another miracle appear in her arms.

"I-is . . . Is that the baby from the car," he asked, incredulous.

She nodded, grinning at him happily. She cuddled the shivering infant closer. Dick was in awe . . . The child was alive! Cold, but alive! It was making cranky, fussing noises; a weak cry which he supposed it was entitled to after its brush with death.

"I need to get it to its mother," she said. It was finally bright enough on the bridge to see more than a shadow in her arms. Elle stared down at the pink jumper and limp, soggy bow. "_Her_! I need to get _her_ to her mother," she smiled.

Dick readjusted the blanket over her shoulders, wrapping his girlfriend and her precious cargo up so as to block the wind that was stronger on the bridge than it had been on the shore. They made their way back toward the huddled figure of the young mother.

Red Robin swerved to a stop in front of them on his motorcycle. "Oh, my God, are you all right," he asked them both.

Elle looked up, startled by the appearance of one of Gotham's heroes. She blinked. "Is that a costume or are you the real deal?"

Red Robin seemed to remember that she didn't know him in this guise. "Both," he grinned. "Need a lift?"

Elle glanced at Dick. Now that she was here in his arms and the child moments away from being reunited with its mother, she suddenly felt the loss of the adrenaline that had kept her going since the adventure began. Her knees became wobbly and her arms began shaking. "Oh, I don't know that I could hang on right now. C-could you take her back to her mother," she asked, handing the bundle off to the young hero before she could drop her. "Tell her to take her to the emergency room. I had to give her rescue breaths to revive her. She will need to be checked over."

Red Robin quickly pulled his cape around the small bundle of pink and precious in his arms. He watched the amazing woman sag against his brother. "Of course, ma'am," he nodded. "You did an incredible thing. Thank you." He carefully turned the cycle back the way he came, drove back toward where the mother was receiving medical attention at last. He slowed only to show Batman and Robin the bundle he carried, and moved on, eager to return the child to her mother.

Batman slowed upon approach. "Are you two . . ."

"We're better now, Batman, thank you," Dick answered for them both. His eyes seemed clearer now. His voice was strong and his confusion of earlier absent. There was still blood seeping out from beneath the cowl, but like the graze on his shoulder, it looked to be easing on its own.

Elle gaped at him, recognizing the genuine article in front of her. She also had blood running down her face, mingling with the water from the river. For being in a car accident and diving from a four story bridge into frigid water, she looked remarkably fit. She was shivering violently now and appeared exhausted, but she was still standing on her own two feet. He hadn't been mistaken about the strength he had sensed in her the previous night. Batman thought she had earned a rare gift tonight.

"You did well, tonight," he rumbled, allowing a true smile to briefly grace the face beneath the cowl. "You saved that child."

Elle returned the smile shyly. "My boyfriend actually did the saving," indicating Dick beside her, startling everyone. "He pulled the mother from the car just seconds before it went over the side of the bridge. If he hadn't torn out the driver's side window, I would never have been able to reach the child in time. I couldn't budge the doors."

Dick stared at her, incredulous. "You dived into the water after the baby, not I!"

She kissed his cheek. "He's so modest," she declared, smiling. "He's actually an off-duty officer from Bludhaven's police force."

Robin looked from the couple to Batman and then back again. He kept his opinion to himself, which was fortunate because at that moment, they were all rushed by reporters.

Dick's senses seemed to have returned to him enough, that Batman was no longer afraid all their secrets would be exposed. He appeared to be letting Elle handle the media, giving them the truth, which for once wouldn't reveal anything. Just Dick Grayson, off-duty cop, and his girlfriend getting caught up in the drama while on their way to a big Halloween bash on the other side of town.

Dick's Batman costume distracted them enough that he could back out of the fray. He and Robin moved out of the way as unobtrusively as possible, hoping to be gone before the rabid reporters realized they had disappeared.

Batman and Robin would head to the cave, and Bruce Wayne would reappear in order to pick up his eldest son and his girlfriend from the local emergency room. All's well that ends well tonight, thank God. Tomorrow, however, would be another day, and he was anxious to verify Dick's health and get the story in full. He had no doubts that it would be a very interesting tale, indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>All kinds of questions should be popping up now . . . Good. The answers are coming, but all in good time.<strong>


	16. Questions

A light tapping on his door announced his visitor. Dick looked at the clock; one in the morning. He had been expecting the visit, but not this early. The door opened, and Bruce walked over to the bed.

"I'm awake," Dick told him. He moved to sit up.

"Mind if I visit," Bruce asked.

"No, of course not. I was expecting you, though I am kind of surprised to see you so early. I was expecting you to come by closer to three o'clock." Dick scooted over to make room.

Bruce took the invitation and sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Ugh, better," Dick acknowledged. A hand went up to touch the butterfly stitches that decorated his forehead.

"I don't suppose you're ready to talk about it," Bruce asked.

"There's not much to tell," Dick winced. "I don't remember much of anything between leaving the manor and you, Alfred, and Elle tucking me into bed."

"Hm," Bruce frowned. His gaze lingering over the head injury.

The ER doctor and Alfred both agreed that his concussion was mild, and, surprisingly, that it was not the source of Dick's brief period of amnesia. Alfred explained what psychogenic shock was, and how the shock of seeing Elle jump to what Dick must have assumed was her death was the likely culprit, and was likely exasperated by the concussion. Bruce supposed he was lucky to remember anything about the evening at all.

Dick sighed. "If I had to forget anything, why couldn't it have been that awful costume I tried on earlier in the evening, eh?" He smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, Bruce."

"Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for," Bruce insisted.

"Mm," Dick made a noncommittal sound. "So, why _are _you here so early? Shouldn't you be out scaring the bejesus out of some crooks?"

Bruce sat there for a minute, but couldn't think of an excuse, so he gave Dick the truth. "I guess I'm just worried about you."

Dick raised his knees up, resting his arms across the tops of them. "Seriously? I thought Alfred and the doc said I was fine. I've been hurt much worse than this before, and you've still made the rounds."

"Leslie hasn't seen you yet. She'll be by in the morning to see how you are doing."

"You called her?"

Bruce grinned. "She called me, chum. Right after she saw you on the news wearing the Bat suit I loaned you."

Dick winced. "Yeah, that wasn't supposed to happen. But I can imagine an even worse scenario . . ." When Bruce raised an eyebrow in question, he explained. "I could have been wearing Elle's Bat suit instead. Now, _that_ would have been a tragedy!"

Bruce chuckled.

"Um, Bruce? Everything is all right, isn't it? I mean, nothing came of my wearing your suit, did it? No questions . . ."

Bruce patted his knee, reassuringly. "No. No, nothing to worry about there. Your girlfriend took care of all that to everyone's satisfaction."

Dick frowned, but that space in time remained a frustrating blank. "How did she do that?"

"Heh. It was quite ingenious, actually. She told them the truth." Bruce rubbed the back of neck, as he remembered watching the interview on the television in the ER waiting room.

"What?"

"She told them that the two of you were on your way to a big Halloween bash on the other side of town when you got caught up in the car chase and shoot out. She showed them her invitation and everything." Bruce grinned. "It helps even more that there were news crews covering the party you both were headed to at the same time. As far as all of Gotham is concerned, you were just wearing a very expensive Halloween costume."

"The party!" Dick slapped his forehead, and then yelped. "Ow, ow, ow! Damn it! Ah, I can't believe that I forgot all about the party! Oh, man! Elle must be so disappointed. This was supposed to be her big break!"

"Easy there, chum," Bruce pulled Dick's hand away, relaxing when he saw that the cut hadn't reopened. "She didn't seem to be too upset when we got back from the hospital. In fact, she seemed exhausted. All she wanted to do was crash for a week; her words, not mine. I'm surprised she managed to stay awake long enough to get you settled in."

Dick lowered his head to his knees carefully, and blew out a breath in disgust. "I have got to be the worst boyfriend in the world!"

"Why would you say that," Bruce asked, concerned by Dick's anger.

Suddenly, his head shot up. "Is she okay, Bruce? I mean, really okay?"

"She has a mild concussion, much the same as you, from hitting the passenger side window when your car was hit. She received a small cut just inside of her hairline. The doctors were worried initially about hypothermia from her swim in the river, but it turned out to be nothing that a couple of warmed blankets and a cup of coffee couldn't fix," Bruce assured him. "They put her on a broad-spectrum antibiotic, just in case, although she claimed to not need it. She seemed to be fine when she went to bed. Far better than I would have expected, actually," he frowned as he considered it.

Dick recognized that look. Something was bothering him, "What do you mean by that?"

Bruce pulled himself out of his musings. "Nothing for you to worry about. She's okay, really. The doctor would have kept her overnight had she not been."

"If it bothers you, you know that I will worry about it. You might as well just tell me what you're thinking now, and save time." Dick insisted.

Bruce sighed. Dick had been able to read him since he first came to live with him. It had made Christmas' and birthdays a tad difficult. But he really didn't want to talk about what was bothering him since it concerned Elle. For the same reason Bruce kept quiet when it came to Barbara, he preferred to keep his own council about Elle now. He didn't want to risk alienating Dick by stating observations that his son might misconstrue as being critical or judgmental about the woman he cared for.

And the funny thing was he _liked_ Elle. She was strong and brave, and appeared to be utterly unselfish. Better still, she seemed to place Dick's happiness and welfare above her own. She was patient and forgiving, apparently of not only him, but his family as well, as her tolerance and forgiveness of Damian's rudeness yesterday attested. She had appeared to be wholly sincere every time he had been in her company.

Bruce didn't consider himself a poor judge of character. He had spent years honing the ability, and his natural reticence and suspicious mind made earning his trust and friendship a challenge. Elle seemed to inspire both of those things, and that in and of itself would normally make him suspicious, but, in spite of that, he still truly liked her.

"It's probably nothing," he tried assuring Dick. "It's just some things that seemed odd at the time. I'm sure that in the morning light I'll think everything is normal."

"Odd? How," Dick asked.

"Heh, you are not going to let me by with this, are you?"

"Nope. You might as well spill it. If you are full of it, be assured I will let you know," Dick mouth quirked up at the edges, but his eyes remained serious.

"So you realize that the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge is fifty-five feet above the Gotham River?" At Dick's nod, Bruce continued his musing out loud. "I realize that there are professional cliff divers that can dive from that height, and even higher, without injury, but not many. Fewer still who would attempt it at night, and those that do usually carry a torch so that they can see the water as they approach it. To dive from that height in complete darkness, as Elle did, is almost certainly a death sentence."

Dick pursed his lips. "Some of the reporters called it 'miraculous'," he remembered Alfred telling him.

"For the average person, it would be," Bruce agreed.

"Elle told me once that she had been on the swim team when she was a teenager. She described herself as being very good. She said she has trophies that prove it. She might have also been on the dive team as well."

"Okay," Bruce agreed. "While that seems unlikely, it _isn't_ totally unrealistic. The other thing that I found 'miraculous', was that despite the darkness and the current and the temperature of the water, she was able to find the car and rescue the child. It just seems so impossible . . . _How_ was she able to do that? I'm not sure that _I_ could have done that, even with a grapple and a light, and certainly not without a rebreather."

Dick was quiet as he thought about the questions Bruce had brought up. He wished now that he could remember what all had happened. It made his head hurt. So, he frowned and asked, "So, what is your point, exactly? I mean, she saved the child. What does it matter how she did it?"

Bruce sighed. This is why he didn't want to bring it up in the first place. Dick was getting defensive. "I suppose it doesn't," he admitted. "I was just curious. Look, it's late and you need to rest up. I'll see you in the morning."

Dick slid back down in the bed. "Good night, Bruce. Thanks for checking on me."

Bruce tucked him in like he had when Dick was a child. "I'm right across the hall if you need me in the night. Good night, son." Bruce ran a hand through Dick's hair as he closed his eyes.

_It shouldn't matter_, he thought as he walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. _But it does_.

* * *

><p>Dick opened his eyes after Bruce had closed his door. He rolled onto his side and stared out the window at the night sky as he thought back over the questions Bruce had about Elle's accomplishment.<p>

Would _he_ have been able to save the baby? Probably not without a fully stocked utility belt, which he didn't have last night. He apparently hadn't even tried, if the story he had been told was true, and he supposed it was. Elle had obviously pulled the child from the sunken vehicle; her hair had still been damp when they had arrived home, and her costume, which she had carried home in a bag, had been soaked with river water. Everything had either been verified by eyewitnesses or there had been proof that testified to its validity.

_It shouldn't matter how she managed it_, Dick thought again with a sigh.

"But it does," he whispered to the darkness.

It took a long time for sleep to finally claim him. If he dreamed about the events of the previous evening, he didn't remember it either.

* * *

><p><strong>The La Quebrada cliff divers in Acapulco, Mexico routinely dive head first into the sea from 40 ft. and even 80 ft. There has never been a fatality of a PROFESSIONAL diver . . . (at least, to the best of my knowledge.)<strong>


	17. The Search

He had slept in. Not surprising since he had lain awake for a long time after Bruce had left his room. Dick had found his mind wandering back over his conversations with Elle they had had over the past month. What he had latched onto, inexplicably, was the story she had told him on their first real date.

Her family legend . . .

It was crazy, but he couldn't let it go. At the time Dick had thought she had been teasing him. Perhaps the story really _had_ passed down in her family, but he had been positive that Elle had believed the same thing he had; that the story was nothing more than that: a story; a fiction; a fairy-tale. Something to enthrall future generations of children. Perhaps it had been a bedtime story that had somehow became something more in the retelling . . . He didn't know.

But it wouldn't go away.

And it explained a lot of the questions that Bruce had brought up.

Of course, so did his own postulations about Elle's swim team successes . . .

Dick climbed out of bed slowly. His headache returned upon sitting up, and he stood up with care. Last thing he needed was to bash his head a second time because he stood up too fast and fainted like some Victorian damsel in distress.

He got dressed, and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. He glanced at Elle's door as he passed, but it was already ten o'clock. Surely she was up and waiting for him along with everyone else. He was always eager to see her, but suddenly he wanted to coax that story about her family legend out of her again. And maybe quiz her more about her time on the swim team.

He pushed his way into the kitchen, led there by the aroma of fresh coffee. Only Alfred was there to greet him.

"Good morning, Master Richard," Alfred smiled at him. "How are you feeling today? Much more the thing after a good night's sleep, I hope?"

Dick kept his sleep, or lack of it, under wraps. It wouldn't do to have Alfred shoo him back upstairs.

"I have a bit of a headache, but nothing a cup of that ambrosia I smell wouldn't fix," he admitted, sheepishly.

"Ah, one cup of ambrosia coming up," Alfred said. "And perhaps one or two aspirin, as well?"

"You always know how best to take care of me," Dick praised, taking the coffee and the pills from the butler's hands. Dick washed the aspirin down, nearly scalding his mouth in the process. "Hot," he exclaimed.

Alfred raised his eyebrow. "It _is_ a fresh pot."

"Heh, yeah, I get that . . . now," he said, rubbing his neck, ruefully.

Alfred pressed his lips together to contain his amusement. It always made him want to smile whenever he spotted the young sir copying mannerisms of Master Bruce. When the young man had been a boy, and new to the manor, his imitations of his guardian had been intentional. In the many years since, however, those imitations had become ingrained and as natural to Richard as they were to the master.

"Would you care for breakfast, or would you prefer to wait until your guest has arisen as well?"

Dick glanced up at him, cup paused mid-way to his mouth. "Elle's not up yet?"

"Not that I am aware," Alfred answered. "I have refrained from starting breakfast as Master Bruce wanted to wait on the two of you."

"Tim?"

"Master Timothy went home last night, and has yet to arrive today."

"Damian?"

"Master Damian has eaten already, but will likely join you when the meal is served," Alfred commented. "I do believe the lad is in the midst of another growth spurt. Food seems to be ever on his mind."

"Where's Bruce," Dick asked.

"I do believe he's in his study, going over various reports," Alfred informed him.

Dick grinned. Working from home . . . Damian's appetite was probably putting a dent into the Wayne bank account, much as his, Jason's, and Tim's had. At least, that was the excuse Bruce had always given them whenever he had needed to bring the office home with him.

* * *

><p>They had kept carefully away from the topic of conversation that had ruled the night. After a few words in greeting, Dick chose to curl up with a book on Bruce's couch while the latter continued to go over reports. Thus, it was a surprise when Alfred interrupted them some time later with questions about lunch.<p>

"Will you both be skipping lunch as well," he inquired. "Or may I prepare something to get you through until supper?"

Both glanced up at the clock, startled by the time. It was already past noon. Two stomachs rumbled loudly at the same time.

"I'll take that as a yes," Alfred replied.

Dick closed his book and sat up. "Has Elle been down yet, Alfred?"

"Indeed, not, I'm afraid," the butler looked upset. "Perhaps you might knock upon her door and see if she has taken ill during the night."

"When she said she could sleep for a week, I didn't think she had meant it literally," Bruce commented.

Dick leaped from the couch as if propelled at the thought that she might be suffering upstairs all alone. His thoughts all upon the woman, he was unaware of Bruce and Alfred following him, albeit at a much more restrained pace.

He knocked on the door, his heart pounding. As he waited for a response, he found his mind wandering to thoughts of what Elle would look like freshly aroused from sleep. He imagined her adorable, with tousled hair, and rumpled pajamas, and the flush of sleep across her cheeks. The image then morphed into the same tousled hair, and rosy blush, but the pajamas had been replaced by a sexy, black negligee. The image was shifting to a picture of Elle stumbling nude to the door when he tried knocking a third time.

Bruce and Alfred had caught up with him by this time, and Dick cleared his throat; embarrassed by his imaginings, he was grateful that neither man was gifted with telepathy. Dick's curiosity, however, was swiftly becoming replaced with concern. He hadn't heard a sound in the time he had been standing here. No rustling of linen, impatient mutterings, or even snoring . . .

What if her concussion had been worse than the doctor believed it was, and she had fallen inexplicably into a coma during the night? What if she had taken water into her lungs during her plunge into the river, and she had developed pneumonia? She might even now be in a fever-induced unconscious state! Guilt washed over him. What if he had slept through her cries for help, or pain-wracked coughing? His lewd imaginings from a few minutes ago, inspired by curiosity and attraction, now shamed him.

"No answer?" Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head, noting Alfred's look of concern. He didn't wait for permission. Reaching out, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Light flooded the room from the opened draperies, leaving no doubt as to the absence of the room's sole occupant. The door to the bathroom was closed, so Dick headed over to it.

Maybe she didn't hear his knocking from in there?

He tapped on the door lightly; then after no response, more firmly. When silence was all that greeted him, he opened the bathroom door and cautiously peeked in. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was also vacant.

He turned to where Bruce and Alfred stood in the doorway. "She's not here," he announced unnecessarily. It was obvious to all that the woman was missing.

Her suitcases were still here, however. Her costume of the previous evening was draped over the shower rod, still drying. Her toiletries were spread over the generous bathroom countertop. Wherever she had gone, it wasn't far, he determined. Maybe she somehow got turned around and was lost, wandering the manor corridors in search of sustenance.

"Do you think she got lost?" The idea was entirely possible, if a little improbable. But then, Dick thought, he had experienced quite a bit of the improbable since meeting Elle.

"We'll split up," Bruce announced.

He and Alfred already had a search grid mapped out after years of having to search the premises for missing or hiding wards. They moved off without a word.

* * *

><p>They had searched the third level as well as the various second floor hallways with its myriad of bedrooms, and were heading down to the main level when the door bell chimed. Dick vaulted over the railing halfway down the stairs, and rushed over.<p>

She had gone outside and had been locked out! Dick grinned with relief as he yanked open the door. Tim stood before him, his helmet tucked under his arm.

"Hey, bro," he smiled.

Dick frowned. Instead of stepping back to allow Tim to enter, he pushed the youth back and craned his neck; peering outside for a stray feminine figure. He was disappointed, but unsurprised to discover that his brother was the only one present.

"Uh, struggling to not feel unwanted here," Tim muttered.

Dick ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Is that her," Bruce spoke from the doorway. Alfred hovered behind his shoulder.

"Her?" Tim glanced from Dick's distraught features, to Bruce's frown, to Alfred's concerned expression. A light went on. "Ah, dude, don't tell me you lost her already!"

Dick sent a rare glare in Tim's direction. "Not helping," he accused. "Did you happen to see Elle out here when you drove up?"

Tim stepped into the foyer as the men gave him room to finally enter. "Nope. Sorry." He glanced around the expansive entry curiously. "Where's Damian? Did you lose him, too," he asked a little hopefully.

The three men exchanged an uncomfortable glance. No one had seen hide nor hair of the youngest member of the family in hours. Elle's disappearance took a new semi-sinister aspect upon the discovery that Damian was missing as well.

Although Dick would swear that Damian wouldn't do anything to hurt Elle, and Bruce had believed he had finally broken Damian of the extremely bad habit of attempting to kill anyone he deemed a threat to his health and happiness, all four men remembered that it was less than a year ago that the boy had attempted to do just that to Tim. Tim had been laid up for a week after the encounter.

"You don't think . . .," Alfred began. "Surely not!"

Tim raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He _totally_ believed the demon-child was still entirely capable of dealing death to those he didn't like. He had spent the majority of the past year fending off numerous unprovoked attacks instigated by the brat. Of course, none of those had been executed with the same lethal force that had been present during that first initial encounter.

"Damian wouldn't . . .," Dick stammered. "I mean, he knows that I . . . th-that Elle and I . . ."

He trailed off. The very fact that Dick was falling hard for the woman might indeed be the integral factor that would set off the child. His eyes widened, and he sent a panicked look toward Bruce.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I think it would be prudent to step up the search and locate Elle as quickly as possible."

"Just in case," Alfred agreed, worriedly.

Dick gulped. "Yeah, sure. Just in case."


	18. Commonality

**Sorry it has taken me so long. I hope to have this and another out this weekend. This chapter and the next are important for character/relationship building, but I promise to make them as interesting as possible. Now Elle has a history of getting herself and those around her into the most odd/improbable situations, much to everyone's consternation! I promise that excitement and angst is brewing on the horizon. That . . . and a lobster. (wink!)**

* * *

><p>Damian carried his satchel with him as he headed for the rec room. It was filled with drawing paper and colored pencils. Normally, he worked on his drawings in his room, but decided that a change in venue might inspire him. Besides, there was a table in there that faced the topiary garden which boasted scads of interesting shapes.<p>

He had taken the back stairs because he hadn't wanted to be interrupted by nosy inquiries into his business. So he was passing by several unused rooms that sat opposite the ballroom when he heard it. He stopped, cocking his head to the side to listen. Except for the few times during the year when Father hosted an event, or when Grayson came over for a movie madness marathon and they turned the television volume sky high to better enjoy the movie explosions, this area was always silent.

_Music_.

Someone was listening to music.

Curious, Damian followed the softly lilting melody. It appeared to be coming from a door to a room Damian didn't remember ever entering. Bruce had kept the door closed ever since he had come to live here, and Damian had just assumed that the door was locked and the room off-limits. He wondered why he had never bothered picking the lock and peeking inside . . . If it had been part of the Batcave, it would have been investigated within the first hour of his arrival nearly a year ago.

Carefully, he touched the handle. It opened silently, the hardware kept in perfect repair despite the fact that the room was never used. The music swelled; much louder now with the door open. He tipped his head past the door frame.

Huh, it made sense, considering the sounds that had been floating into the hallway, Damian was still surprised by what he saw. A music room! He had had no idea that the manor had boasted a dedicated music room.

The room was filled with numerous musical instruments. On the wall and shelves were mounted guitars, saxophones, trumpets, violins, clarinets . . . The list was too many to count, although Damian thought he might come back and count them later, when the room was deserted. It was the large instrument in one corner that stole his attention, however.

Dick's girlfriend sat at the baby grand piano, her fingers moving in complex patterns over the black and white keys. The sounds coming from the piano were sort of impressive, he decided reluctantly. Interested in spite of himself, Damian glanced down the hallway in both directions. Finding no one, he took a step into the room.

The Hamilton woman's back was to the door, so he knew she wouldn't know he was there unless she turned around. He saw a couch across from where he stood. It was also directly behind her. Ever since that night that Bruce had gone to dinner with Dick and came back with glowing (well, glowing for the Batman) praise for the woman and her voice, Damian had been (sort of) wondering what the fuss was all about.

He had managed to put it out of his head after a day or so until Dick had shown up with Hamilton in tow. Again there was a big to-do over her getting the chance to sing for some record producers – So much so that Father allowed Dick to do something Damian would never have expected Father to allow: wear one of his Bat suits out in _public_! But not for patrol, or as a favor to Father, but as a _civilian_! As _Dick_! All for this woman's sake . . .

Why was she so special, he wondered? What was so great about her voice that people (Father and Dick) acted out of character in order to hear her sing? His curiosity had ramped up to a new level since then.

He silently made his way to the couch. He could draw here as easily as he could in the rec room. She was making so much noise he didn't believe she would hear him. He would stay only long enough to hear her sing, and then he would leave, continue on his way to the rec room that was in the family wing.

* * *

><p>Elle had noticed him immediately. The acoustics in the music room were marvelous, so when the door to the room opened, she could hear the change in the quality of the sound. It didn't take her long at all to deduce the identity of her audience, even without turning around.<p>

If the intruder had been Dick or Bruce, either one of the men would have announced themselves, and likely commented on her playing. Alfred would have peered in only long enough to verify the music was coming from Elle, and would likely leave quietly so as not to disturb her. Tim might have acted in either fashion, though she suspected that he would have interrupted her practice for conversation.

Her intruder, by process of elimination, was in all probability, Damian.

That he didn't say anything, but stood in the doorway for several minutes, told her that he was interested in what she was doing, but didn't want to admit to it. The feel of the room had changed dramatically, once the door had been quietly shut, leading her to surmise that her visitor had remained in the room. It no longer felt as though she were alone.

But she didn't feel holes being drilled into the back of her head, which she might have suspected with Damian. He was entertaining himself as he listened. All this Elle determined without hesitation; without missing a single note. Her lips curved up into a secret smile.

Damian thought he was the only one with knowledge, but he didn't realize that Elle knew he was present. That made Elle the one with the knowledge. If Damian was being sneaky, then Elle was being sneakier. And for now, she kept her knowledge to herself.

Knowing she had an audience changed the nature of her practice. When she had first stumbled onto the music room, she had been saddened by its obvious neglect. Oh, the room hadn't been dusty; in fact, it had been spotless, and that had given it away. Alfred, she knew, was a stickler for the details, making him a wonderful housekeeper, but if a music room was well-loved, no matter how great of a housekeeper he was, there still would have been fingerprints and strewn sheet music around. The instruments were kept like trophies, and not like treasures.

She had begun idly playing the piano, feeling a little sorry for herself, that she had missed the chance to reach the level of success that would have forced her father to continue allowing her to live her life on her own; unmolested by events, escorts, and well-meaning suggestions with how to live her own life.

Cedric Hamilton loved his daughter, of that Elle had no doubt, but he didn't really know her. As usual, her father thought he could run her life better than she. He felt she should take an interest in the family business, and an active role in running the company. Elle had wanted to travel and sing and make her own decisions, particularly when it came to her love life; something that had been pretty much non-existent up until now.

So, Elle had played slow songs; sad songs that reflected her mood. Oh, she was happy and proud that she had saved the child, and thrilled to have met the actual Batman and a couple of his sidekicks, but all that was tempered by the eventual conversation she would have with her father once he heard about her involvement with that police shootout. It might be enough to convince him to override her feelings and force her home, despite Dick's insistence of that event's illegality.

Now, though, she had an audience. Not just any audience, but a hostile audience of one. Elle acknowledged that Damian, based upon his reaction to her arrival, had a special relationship with Dick; one he determined that she intruded upon. He didn't like her. While that might not normally have her bent out of shape, Damian was important to Dick, and Dick was important to Elle; thus Damian was important to Elle. She now had an opportunity, small though it was, to influence his opinion of her. She dropped the slow, sad songs and changed to songs that were more upbeat, happier!

After a while with no comments being made from the peanut gallery behind her, Elle decided that quiet reticence must run in the family. Damian was no different than Dick in that he just listened without involving himself. She sighed, preparing herself for an intervention.

"Do you have a request," she asked, without turning around.

There was a shuffle of paper and a rattle of something else that Elle couldn't place without turning around. It didn't matter. She had heard that small, sharp intake of breath that told her she had startled him. She pressed her lips together hard in order to not laugh.

Finally, after a moment of silence, she heard a grunt. "How did you know I was in here? I took extra care to be quiet."

Elle allowed herself a grin. "I heard the door open."

"The door didn't make any sound," Damian exclaimed.

"The door itself didn't," she explained. "But I could hear the change in the acoustics of the room when it did."

Silence, as he processed that bit of information. "How did you know I didn't just shut the door and leave?"

She shrugged, still not looking at the boy behind her. "I could . . . _sense_ your presence. I guess that is the best word for it."

There were sounds of more shuffling and rattling; the slide of a jeans-covered bottom on upholstery furniture material. He was coming to join her. He stopped just behind her, off to the right of her shoulder. At last, she looked back at him, meeting his eyes.

He was frowning at her. Elle decided to not take it personally. She had a feeling that it was something that he just did whenever he was curious.

"So, is there something in particular that you'd like to hear," she repeated her earlier question.

"Um."

He was considering it, she thought, trying to decide if making a request was a sign of weakness. Elle smiled. Little boys could be so easy to read sometimes. She wished the grown versions were all this simple.

* * *

><p>Damian decided that it couldn't hurt to just ask her for what he wanted. She had asked him to, after all. "Would you sing something for me?"<p>

She had already played for him for over an hour. He had, at first, become impatient while waiting for her to start singing. But soon the lilting melodies soothed him enough that he felt comfortable to bring out his art supplies. He didn't think she could hear him over the sounds of her playing, and he had strived to remain quiet, just in case discovering his presence would make her stop.

Now, he found that she had known he was there from the beginning. While he probably should be irritated by that, instead it intrigued him. And although she hadn't used his name, somehow he was sure she knew exactly whom she was addressing when she first spoke to him.

"What would you like to hear," she asked.

Damian took a step over to stand beside the bench; the better to watch her fingers stroke the keys. "I don't know," he reluctantly admitted. "I don't know any songs."

This startled her, and she looked at him. "None?"

He dipped his head, hating that his lack of musical knowledge made him feel inferior. He shrugged. He watched her reaction out of his periphery.

She didn't look smug, he thought, relieved. But she was frowning at him. He didn't know why, but the expression didn't look comfortable on her face, like she didn't do it a lot.

"Didn't your mother ever sing to you as a child," she asked softly.

"Tt," he snorted at the thought. "Not hardly."

"What about Bruce . . . um, your father? Didn't he ever sing to you or listen to music in the car?"

"I've only lived with my father for the past eleven months or so," he told her. It wasn't like she couldn't find out by asking Grayson, so he didn't really feel like he was giving up the information.

"My God," she breathed. "I couldn't imagine having to live my life without music. No wonder your brother came to listen as often as he did."

"I haven't lived my life without music," Damian corrected. "Only that no importance was placed upon it, and my mother never felt compelled to sing."

"What music have you listened to," she asked, looking at him seriously.

He pursed his lips as he pondered the question. "Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven . . ."

"Ah," she smiled, "the classical composers. I love them, too. But there is a broad range of music out there to explore," she told him.

She scooted over, and patted the bench beside her. He wondered if there was a trick involved. After a moment, Damian relaxed; the knowledge that he could still kill her just as swiftly and effectively from the piano bench as from anywhere reassuring him. He sat down beside her.

Her fingers tickled the keys of the piano, and she played a little portion of a song for him.

"Ragtime," she informed him.

She caressed a different song, this one with a different tempo. "Swing," she said.

She played another tune; a different rhythm. "One of my personal favorites," she admitted. "It's called Jazz."

She stopped and turned toward him. "I have a feeling that you might appreciate rock and roll, but it loses something without the guitar and the percussion. I can play guitar," her eyes flitted up to where said instrument was displayed, "but having the entire band would be better for appreciating it the first time out."

"I have a USB upstairs in my bag. It has an assortment of music on it, some of which is rock. I had planned to use it at the Halloween party last night when my turn came up, but that didn't work out so well," her shoulders drooped a little. "I'd need something to play it, but I could sing some of those songs for you, and give you a little taste of different styles." Her eyes scanned the room for an appropriate device.

Damian nodded. "The rec room has surround sound," he volunteered.

She grinned. "Okay. My bag is on the nightstand beside the bed. Can you find the memory stick, and bring it to me?"

He hesitated. "You'd trust me to go through your things?"

"You're on a mission," she explained. "I don't think you would be the kind of spy to let distractions come between him and his goal." She smiled. "Besides, Dick trusts you, and I trust Dick."

Damian's eyes widened. How did she do that? How could she know him so well? How did she make him feel so . . . comfortable?

"You can do it," she assured him. "Better yet, make sure no one sees you," she instructed. "This will be a private concert, just for you."

He liked that. Something he didn't have to share with others; something for him alone. "Did you sing these songs for Grayson?"

She startled a moment. "You call your brother by his last name?"

Damian shrugged. "I call everyone by their last name . . . Except Father."

She seemed to accept that. "Hm, that sounds reasonable," she said. "As for Dick, he might have heard me sing one or two of these at the club, but most of them he's never heard me sing before."

Damian's mouth twitched up a little at the thought that he would hear her sing these songs before his brother. "Okay," he agreed. "Do you know where the rec room is?"

She shook her head. "Not a clue."

"Wait here, then. When I get back, I'll take you."

* * *

><p>Elle watched him open the door and peek out, making sure that no one would see him. It made her grin. He slipped out silently. He might make a pretty decent spy one day, she thought.<p>

While she waited for him to return, she wandered over to the sofa he'd been sitting on. There was the source of the paper rustling, and colored pencils the source of the odd rattle that she had heard.

Curious, she picked up a paper. That was a rather splendid rendition of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, she thought. She picked up another one, then another. An excellent speedboat; a pretty ferocious grizzly bear; an odd-looking plane . . . That one looked familiar, but not. She tilted the paper at a different angle. It was black and its wings sharp like a . . . a bat! That was it! He drew a picture of the Batplane!

Elle remembered seeing it once on the news during the past year. The story had been about some big battle fought by the Justice League, and there had been footage that had included Batman flying over the threat in the Batplane! She thought that Damian must have seen the same news footage. It would be just the sort of thing that would spark a young boy's imagination.

She studied the drawing anew. It was incredibly detailed. What Elle had seen on television had been little more than a shape; its details obscured by distance and smoke, only enough to know it resembled a bat. This picture bespoke a mind with amazing capabilities or else personal knowledge. She had gotten the impression that Damian was more intelligent than the average eleven year old, but . . . .

Ah, wait! Damian lived in Gotham City! Of course, he would have far more opportunities to glimpse the Batplane than someone living in Chicago, or even Bludhaven, Gotham's sister city. Satisfied with that reasoning, Elle carefully set the drawing back with the others.

She picked up the last drawing. Her mouth dropped open. It was of _her_! Damian had drawn a picture of Elle in the music room playing the piano. You couldn't see her face because her back had been towards the artist, except for a glimpse of cheek as she had tilted her head to one side as she had played. But it was her nonetheless.

She smiled, and felt a little misty.

Damian had pictured her as a threat, and yet he hadn't taken his vengeance upon her in his drawing. He could have easily made her grossly fat or given her horns, but instead he had taken care to make the drawing realistic. It was even a bit flattering, given its somewhat dreamlike quality of fuzzy edges. Either way, the boy was truly a budding artist!

Such potential, she thought. All of the drawings still had a childlike quality about them, but there was so much more to them than anything she might have seen from another child of similar age. Not that she had seen that much, but she had visited Chicago's Children's Museum a couple of times when they had art displayed by local children. Damian's would have fit in perfectly, she thought. His would have even had the potential for a showcase!

Elle set her drawing back in the pile reluctantly. She wanted it. Unfortunately, he hadn't invited her to look at any of it. She had been rude looking without his invitation. But knowing it was there made Elle begin to scheme of a way to get him to show them to her. It might be as simple as just asking, but somehow Elle knew there wasn't much about Damian Wayne that was simple.

She moved back to the shelves lining one of the walls. Opening some of the cupboards beneath, Elle located just what she had been looking for; a CD/network playing console with a USB port. A quick glance proved it was hooked up and ready to go. Looking up at the ceiling, Elle now spotted the cleverly hidden speakers. She could visit the rec room another time. This would be perfect! Much better acoustically for Damian's enjoyment and it cut back their risk of discovery that much longer.

She moved back to the piano bench to wait her little spy.


	19. Cutting Loose

**Pay attention to the changes in POVs. I separated them out with a break, but wanted to give you a heads up that the viewpoints come from not just Dick and Elle, but also Damian, and at one point switch back and forth quickly. The song I mention here is "_I Like That Old Time Rock and Roll_" written by George Jackson, Thomas E. Jones III, and uncredited lyrics by Bob Seger; performed by Seger on his album, _Stranger in Town._ I don't own any part of this song; I just like it and consider it a rock and roll classic. (That I don't own Batman or any of the characters of the DC universe goes without saying.)**

* * *

><p>Dick hadn't come very far down the hallway that led to the ballroom before the sounds of music drifted to his ears. Where was it coming from? It took him a moment to remember the music room near the end of the hall.<p>

Alfred had told him that long-ago Waynes' had hosted many a musical evenings, and that the room had been one of Martha Wayne's favorites. It had also been a room that Dick had always thought of as off-limits as Bruce had always ever kept the door closed. He knew the door wasn't locked, but it might as well have been for as many times as he had ventured here.

One. One time, and that was only to peek in at the array of instruments that were displayed on walls and shelves. Not that music was ever forbidden or that there weren't musical instruments to be found elsewhere in the house . . . Dick had learned to play guitar while growing up. There was an upright piano in one corner of the living room. It just wasn't as important as the mission. Nothing ever was as important as the mission. Thus, while music wasn't forbidden, it was seldom played within the household when it wasn't being used as a tool during a party or event.

But Dick couldn't help but wonder if they had, for all of Bruce's wealth, been all the poorer without it, however, when he got close enough to recognize the song seeping through the doors of the music room. He could hear her singing to the song as he neared, and grinned. Why didn't he think to look here for her first when they thought she was lost? Elle obviously had turned down the wrong hall, but upon finding a room full of instruments, he knew she couldn't resist exploring. At least they no longer had to worry that Damian had kidnapped her with the intent of doing her in!

"Anything?"

Dick glanced behind him to see Bruce trotting towards him.

"What's that sound," he asked as he joined Dick. "Ah, I see she found the music room," answering his own question.

"We should have looked here first," Dick told him, repeating his earlier thought.

Bruce's mouth quirked. "_That_ doesn't sound like jazz."

"Jazz is just her favorite style of music, but not the only one she appreciates . . . apparently," Dick tilted his head, listening.

"Apparently? You mean, you didn't know?"

"I've only ever heard her sing jazz . . . Well, that and the occasional lullaby."

Now, Bruce's eyebrow quirked. "Lullaby . . .? Wait, stop! I don't want to know."

Dick elbowed him, grinning even as heat rushed to his cheeks. "She sang me to sleep once or twice when I was sick, you pervert. Nothing happened."

Bruce snorted. "You must be losing your touch," he teased. "And Alfred tells me she has her own room . . ."

Dick blushed up to the roots of his hair, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Ducking his head, he stammered, "Uh, yeah, well . . . I _am_ her first boyfriend, after all. There's no rush . . . And it's not like _I_ have a playboy image to cultivate . . . Ah, forget it! Never mind!"

Bruce chuckled at Dick's discomfort. He ruffled the younger man's hair playfully, as he used to when Dick had been a boy. "No," he assured him. "I'm proud of you. Your actions and the reasons behind them only go to prove how much you genuinely care about this young woman. It also speaks well of her character that she continues to bring out the best in you."

Dick shrugged his shoulders. "Elle makes me want to be a better man."

Bruce's hand settled on the back of his son's neck, and he looked him in the eye. "Considering that you are the best man I know, that's truly saying something."

Dick's self-effacing smile faltered at the praise. He stared for a moment. That was the greatest compliment that he had ever been given, and for it to come from Bruce . . . He didn't know what to say to that. "Oh. Wow . . .That is . . ."

"Master Bruce! Master Richard! Have you located our guest?" Alfred's voice interrupted.

The moment shattered, Bruce's hand dropped away and Dick stepped back; both turning to greet Alfred and Tim as they hurried down the hall to meet up with them. The memory, however, was tucked away into that special place Dick kept all of his most treasured moments. He would save it for later, when he was alone, to pull it out and savor it fully.

"I believe we have, Alfred," Bruce was saying.

The two men slowed as they neared as the music finally drifted to their ears. Alfred looked startled as he realized that music was once again flowing from a room too long silent. Tim cocked his head as he listened.

"_I Like That Old-Time Rock and Roll_?" Tim marveled. "Who's that singing?"

"Elle," Dick was smiling again.

"I guess the demon-brat didn't off her yet," Tim remarked.

"Tim!" Bruce growled.

"Master Timothy," Alfred reproached him.

"What? It was merely an observation," Tim defended himself.

A screech of furniture moving interrupted the notes of the song. Tim's observation struck a chord of another kind in the hearts of the men and they rushed the last few yards to the room; determined to prevent any possible harm to the woman who now owned Dick's heart. As the door was thrown open, Dick stumbled to startled halt just a couple of feet inside the room. Bruce nearly plowed him over as the rest of the men barreled in behind him. All of them stared in awe at the scene before them.

* * *

><p>The music was turned up so loud that even Elle remained unaware that they were no longer alone in the room. She and Damian had shoved the couch back in their eagerness to have more room, and resumed their activities with renewed glee and vigor.<p>

Elle sang the words to the song as she twirled and danced with joyful abandon. It had taken Damian a little time to relax and loosen up enough to join her, but eventually he had, and Elle was thrilled! It was a major victory in her campaign to win the boy over, and she was reveling in her success!

Damian, although stiff in the beginning, was now moving to the rhythm of the music with almost an unbridled enthusiasm; copying most of Elle's moves but now comfortable enough to add a few of his own ideas into the mix. He was definitely seeing the value in music now; if only to reduce the boredom of repetitive movements found in aerobics and certain exercise regimens, he qualified as an afterthought. Dancing, he decided was a worthy way to increase cardiovascular circulation and increase stamina. If the activity was almost amusing, then all the better, he thought.

* * *

><p>Damian was dancing. <em><span>Dancing<span>_!

Dick wanted to laugh out loud! This was wonderful . . .

And if that miracle wasn't enough, he was having a blast while doing it! The huge grin on his face attested to that very fact. For the most part, his back was to his still hidden audience, but they had caught glimpses of that elusive expression as the boy gyrated to the classic rock and roll song with Elle.

* * *

><p>Elle spun around in her dance. She opened her eyes to watch Damian finally cutting loose, and saw, much to her dismay, the entirety of the household gaping at them from just inside the doorway.<p>

Damian still had his back to them, but any second he would spot their audience and close down completely. She knew this about him like she knew her own name. The embarrassment she knew he would suffer would guarantee that he would never ever allow himself to experience such a release as dancing provided again.

_Worse_! He would blame her for what he would consider his humiliation, and the fragile bit of trust she had earned from him would be forever broken. She knew without saying that forgiveness was not this boy's strong suit.

Her eyes widened, panic written in every inch of her expression, she shook her head vigorously and pointed firmly to the door. Her facial expression shifted instantly to its previous happiness the second Damian glanced in her direction. She looked over his head, relieved to find that they were once more alone in the room. Damian followed her glance curiously, but saw nothing and so continued to spin, lunge, twist, and jump uninhibited; hidden from unwanted, prying eyes.

* * *

><p>It didn't take a mind reader to realize what Elle was telling them. Tim and Bruce did a mad scramble to get out of the room before Damian saw them. Dick turned and threw himself bodily into the hallway, landing in an ignominious heap at Bruce's feet as Alfred hurriedly shut the door behind them.<p>

"Well, there's a sight you don't see every day," Tim remarked, dryly. The understatement doing more to emphasize the sheer wonder of the scene more than anything else that could have been said at that point.

"That smile . . .," Alfred began. "Master Bruce did you see?"

"More like a grin, Alfred. Yes, I did. I didn't think it was possible," Bruce wondered aloud, reaching down to help Dick back to his feet.

Dick rubbed his elbow as he laughed. Damian dancing, grinning, and laughing like the little boy he was . . . It was a wish come true; something he had wanted for the boy since he had shown up at their door sullen, self-important, and yet riddled with enormous amounts of self-doubt that he constantly tried to hide behind a mien of anger and biting sarcasm.

"Are you all right," Bruce asked, touching Dick's arm above the elbow he had struck upon landing on the hard marble tiles.

"I am more than all right," he replied, purposely misconstruing Bruce's question. "That was amazing!" This memory was going to be tucked alongside of the compliment that Bruce had bestowed upon him just minutes ago.

Bruce grabbed Dick's wrist and pushed up the sleeve to his sweater to inspect the possible injury. "I meant your elbow," he clarified, bemused by the situation.

The area was slightly reddened, but no dramatic discoloration had occurred and there was no sign of swelling. He allowed Dick to retrieve his arm from his inspection and pull his sleeve back down.

"So, what are we supposed to do now," Tim asked the obvious, looking from one man to the other.

The song was ending. Dick moved back to the door.

"We're going to join them," he said, waiting until he was certain that he wouldn't interrupt any potentially humiliating situations before he threw open the door; making enough noise upon entry that both parties would be immediately alerted to his presence.

* * *

><p>Damian was panting from his exertion. As soon as he saw Dick, he moved to the sofa and began picking up his papers and coloring pencils. He shoved them all into his backpack.<p>

Elle tried not to be disappointed as she watched her portrait disappear inside the scruffy pack. She would be here for another entire day, however. She would be leaving Gotham with that picture in her luggage yet, she determined.

"There you are," Dick walked up to her and kissed her in greeting.

Elle blushed charmingly, but leaned into the kiss nonetheless. She was helpless to resist the man's affections, even in front of his family. Despite her reaction to his earlier unexpected entrance, she was genuinely thrilled to see him. Just his presence was enough to make her happy!

"Here I am," she agreed, smiling warmly at him. "Have you been looking for me?"

"I have," he told her, touching his nose to hers. "Imagine my dismay when I go to wake you for brunch, only to discover that you are missing."

"Oh," she sighed. Then realizing what he had just said, she straightened abruptly. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! I turned the wrong way and took the stairs at the end of the hall. I peeked in some of the rooms to see if I could get my bearings, and . . . Well, when I looked in here I sort of became distracted."

"Good afternoon, Elle," Bruce greeted her. "Have you and Damian been getting to know each other?" He acknowledged his youngest son by dropping a hand on his shoulder. Damian didn't actually smile at him, but neither did he shrug the touch off much as he would have only a week ago.

Her eyes widened. "Afternoon," she squeaked. "I had no idea! Where did the morning go?" That last, she was asking Damian.

"Elle was introducing me to different styles of music, Father," Damian explained, still slightly breathless.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he nodded, unaware of his own enthusiasm. "I was curious. She sang for me like she did for you and Grayson."

"Did she indeed, Master Damian?" Alfred stepped into the room next. Tim followed on the butler's heels. "And was it all that Master Richard and your father described?"

Damian glanced up at his father, and then at Dick, who had turned to face him; his arm around Elle's waist. She leaned against him, and tilted her head; curiosity evident in her face.

* * *

><p>Everyone was awaiting his opinion.<p>

Damian hesitated. If he criticized Hamilton's performance, then everyone would remain mad at him . . . And it might hurt her feelings, he supposed. He hated to admit she was any good, but if he said she was anything other than good, he would be lying.

He had _liked_ her singing – a lot. When she had started dancing around him as she sang, his lips had curved upward. She had been funny, but also had appeared to be truly enjoying herself. She hadn't cared that he had smiled, although she might have supposed he had been laughing at her – He hadn't been, of course. Her happiness had actually been infectious.

He had tried to decline when Hamilton had urged him to join her dancing. He had managed to hold out for a couple of songs before he finally gave in. He hadn't known was he had been doing. The idea of gyrating to music had seemed utterly ridiculous to him, and he hadn't wanted to appear foolish, even if Hamilton was doing an excellent job of it.

But, then again, she hadn't _really_ looked foolish. Her moves were synchronized to the beat of the music, and it sort of made sense – in a way. The individual moves had looked rather simple, but put together, they grew more complicated. Despite himself, Damian had been intrigues. Eventually he had given in and tried to emulate what Hamilton was doing, watching her closely for the moment when she began to mock his clumsy attempts. But . . . that moment never came.

Hamilton had smiled, but it had been in encouragement and maybe even happiness. It had made him feel like he done something good, like he had accomplished something almost important by making her happy. She had laughed, but not contemptuously. And after a moment, he had smiled with her. Not long after that, he had laughed with her! She had acted thrilled with him. The mood had been addicting. With each consecutive song, Damian had lost more of his inhibitions. He had had . . . Dare he admit it? . . . Fun!

Now, with everyone looking at him, he was put on the spot. Would the others think him silly for enjoying her singing? He looked at Dick. Of course, he would think she sang great . . . She was his girlfriend! But Damian had heard Father talking about Hamilton to Alfred after he had met her. He had heard him tell Alfred that her voice was impressive.

If she actually did sing great, then how would it be foolish to admit that she had sounded good? Damian wouldn't wax eloquent, but he could, he thought, tell the truth without fear of ridicule.

He shrugged. "Her voice was acceptable," he admitted.

Glancing at Hamilton, he saw her smile falter the tiniest bit. He supposed she didn't know him well enough yet to realize that for him, that was high praise. He felt a little twinge in his chest that she might think he didn't like her singing after all. Hamilton's disappointment wasn't acceptable to him.

He amended his statement. "Actually, it was more than acceptable," he said.

Every head swiveled back in his direction.

"It was . . .," he searched for the right word. Remembering his father's description, he nodded. "Impressive."

He wanted to wince at the silence that followed. They all might as well have gasped aloud. But Hamilton practically glowed, and that, he found, was acceptable enough to ignore the others.

Still, he suddenly wanted to change the subject to something less embarrassing. If they continued in this vein, it might come to light that he had indulged in dance. That was unacceptable! So, when his stomach growled, Damian leaped at the idea.

"I'm hungry," he stated to the room in general. "Is it time for lunch yet, Pennyworth?"

"Indeed, it is, Master Damian," Pennyworth agreed. "Lunch will be served shortly." The butler looked at Hamilton. "You must be starved, Miss Arabella. It is nearly one o'clock now."

Hamilton's stomach rumbled loudly in response. Instead of blushing like Gordon might have, she laughed. "I think that I am, Alfred. And if you would like, later, I could sing a few songs for you and Tim as well. A kind of mini-concert; if you like."

"I, for one, would love to hear what all the fuss is about," Tim volunteered.

"I think that would be a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, Miss Arabella," Alfred remarked. "I would enjoy the opportunity to hear the voice that Master Damian has deemed to be impressive. A high compliment, to be sure."

A squeeze on his shoulder as he and his father moved to follow everyone out of the music room, made Damian look up. Father's lips twitched up in a rare smile at him, and he winked! As Damian started toward the dining room, the shock mellowed out into pleasure.

Maybe Hamilton wasn't so bad, after all. She might even be okay.

* * *

><p><strong>I had the hardest time coming up with a rock song that Elle could perform that was classic and something that I thought Damian would enjoy. I came up with several others, but this one stood out as one that either a man or woman could sing, and one with lyrics that Elle wouldn't object to singing to an eleven year old boy. She sang other songs for him that I don't mention, so it might be fun if you could name a classic rock song that Elle might have performed for Damian before Dick and the others stumbled upon them. (Keep in mind the limits that Elle would place upon them - She doesn't know Damian's background, so lots of violence, bad language, and sex cut out many songs that I love, but might not consider age appropriate for a child.) I'm not going to show Elle's mini concert she gave for the family, but one song you might like to look up, if you haven't heard it before, is "<span><em>Remedy (I Won't Worry)<em>" as performed by Jason Mraz. It was written by Mraz, Lauren Christy, Scott Spock, and Graham Edwards. I don't own any part of the song, I just like picturing Elle singing and dancing to it. Can you picture her coaxing Dick, Tim, Bruce, and Alfred to cut loose a little with her? Damian might even be willing to join in if everyone else does . . .  
><strong>


	20. A Not-So-Simple Resolution

"You know there is a simple way to resolve this matter," Bruce remarked, sitting in a chair beside Dick's bed.

It was four o'clock on a Sunday morning. Dick blinked bleary eyes at him and the clock.

"Did you just get in?"

"Twenty minutes ago," he admitted.

Dick pulled himself up in the bed, and ran both hands through his hair. He barely reacted when one brushed the still tender area of his forehead. His headache had vanished with the excitement of yesterday morning when he couldn't find Elle, and only returned the evening before; a mild, if annoying, ache behind his left eye. He hadn't even bothered taking anything for it.

The reaction didn't go unnoticed by Bruce, however. Nothing ever slid by that man unless it was something he was purposely ignoring. He stood up and leaned over his son, flicking on the bedside light as he gently pushed back Dick's hair to inspect the slight wound. Dick waved him away.

"It's nothing," he assured him. "It's fine. It's just a little tender to the touch still."

Bruce ignored him as he finished the inspection. Once satisfied the injury was indeed healing properly, he returned to his chair.

"In a couple of months, you won't even have a scar," he told him. "But keep in mind that head injuries are no small matter. Several mild concussions, even over the course of years, can lead to serious complications later on."

Dick narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that? Are you having any problems that I should know about?"

"No."

"You've been doing this longer. You've had far more concussions than I have had; more serious ones as well."

"I didn't come in here to compare medical records, you know," Bruce sighed.

"You could have asked me to join you tonight, you know," Dick returned. "Did you at least take Tim or Damian with you?"

"Damian. Tim has a big exam on tomorrow morning." Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "Have you thought any more about the questions I had for you?"

"I've done practically nothing but since you brought them up."

"And . . .?"

It was Dick's turn to sigh. "Short of tossing her off the bridge into the river again and timing her, I don't see what more I can do without making her suspicious. I'd really appreciate not having a lot of suspicions and distrust between me and my girlfriend right now."

"Hm, well, about that," Bruce began. "As I was saying when I first came in, I think I have a simple resolution that might help clear up the matter, and give us a glimpse into what she's capable of."

Dick tilted his head in disbelief. "What she's capable of? What the hell . . .? Elle's a singer, not a super-villain! If she happens to be a good swimmer, too, so what? A lot of normal, every-day people happen to be good swimmers!"

"Don't take what I'm suggesting out of context. I'm not saying she's a bad person, only that she was managed to do something that most people wouldn't have had a prayer of accomplishing. She fought a tough current in pitch black water to locate a sunken vehicle and successfully rescue an infant who, for all intents and purposes, should have died."

"_Most people_ being the operative words here," Dick argued. "And don't tell me you would have preferred the baby to have drowned, Bruce, because I know you better than that."

"_No, of course not_! I am thrilled the child survived to be reunited with its parents!" Bruce tried to hold onto his temper. Dick was going on the defensive again, although why he felt Bruce's curiosity was a threat, he didn't know.

"Then why, Bruce? Why do you keep questioning this? Can't you just accept it as the miracle it is, be happy with the outcome, and move on?" Dick held out his hands in a supplicating manner. His questions taking on a pleading tone.

Bruce looked at his son for a long moment. "Because," he said quietly. "I don't believe in miracles."

"Why does everything have to have an explanation? I don't understand. She didn't do anything wrong, Bruce! I don't think she's even capable of doing anything wrong." Dick dropped his hand into his lap in frustration.

"I never said she did," Bruce pointed out, becoming defensive himself. "And, for the record, I agree with you. I don't believe Elle is capable of doing something she knows is wrong. At least, certainly not on the scale that you and I are used to dealing with."

"Not on _any_ scale . . ." Dick huffed.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet. It was a pose he often took when contemplating a serious issue. Finally he looked up at his son. "Dick, no one is perfect . . ."

Dick looked toward his window, as if unable to process the idea that Elle was capable of even a small wrong. He knew it was stupid. Of course, Bruce was right. She wasn't perfect . . . But she was perfect for _him_. And it wasn't as though he hadn't been thinking about much else than the questions that Bruce had poised to him the day before. He too wanted to know how she had managed to do what she did, but part of him was afraid to look too closely. As if the knowledge might have the power to snatch her away from him.

"What is your simple resolution, and will she still be speaking to me at the end of it?"

"I don't see why she would be upset with you. You said she likes to swim, did you not?" Bruce leaned back. Now that Dick was ready to listen, he expected no problems. The plan _was_ simple.

"Yes, but . . ."

"I have put up a high dive since Damian has come to live here. As you use the gym equipment in the cave, you've probably haven't taken the opportunity to see it." Bruce remarked, almost casually.

"No one mentioned it," Dick admitted cautiously. He was beginning to understand Bruce's plan, and it was, as usual, brilliant.

"I would suggest that you spend the afternoon trying it out. We can make a day of it. A family event, as it were," Bruce smiled. "Perhaps you can convince Elle to show you her moves. Have a race; compete on the dive; see how long everyone can hold their breath . . . Play Marco Polo, or volleyball afterwards."

Dick's mouth quirked at the thought. Elle would probably love that; Aquaman's cousin, indeed. "She does seem to love the water . . ."

Elle would probably have a blast, and so would Tim and Damian. She would never know that Bruce would be testing her abilities. It would merely be a day at play. Maybe it would put to rest all of his own questions and the crazy ideas that had been swirling in the back of his mind since Bruce first brought it up.

* * *

><p>"You have an indoor swimming pool," Elle asked, at brunch the next morning. Although why she should be surprised, she didn't know. Nearly every wealthy family home boasted not only a pool, but tennis courts, private gymnasiums, saunas and the like.<p>

Dick grinned. "And an outdoor one as well, but if we thought the lake was cold in October, I'd say the pool would be even colder in November."

"It has a high dive, too!" This was added by Damian who was obviously excited by the idea that his father and brother had come up with.

Elle looked around at everyone at the table with her. She sat down her orange juice with care. "You want to make a day of it?"

"Alfred has agreed to prepare a picnic lunch that we can eat around the pool," Bruce told them. He looked at Damian. "There will be no swimming for an hour after eating however."

At the boy's pout, Dick quickly offered another alternative. "There are other games we can play while we wait, Dami. Bruce told me about the new high dive he put in this summer. I'm looking forward to seeing you use it. Can you do tricks off of it yet?"

Perking up, Damian nodded. "I can to a double somersault off of it . . . backwards!"

Elle grinned at the thought. She bet she could show Damian a few tricks off the high dive that would blow the boy's mind. It was times like these that she missed living at the mansion by the Great Lake. Her father had also put in indoor and outdoor pools for her mother, but had totally revamped them especially for their daughter and her interests. Her indoor high dive was rumored to be one of the tallest created for a private home, and the depths of both pools reached a whopping fifty feet!

Of course, Elle used Lake Michigan to increase her strength and stamina as well as affording her the opportunity to dive to even greater depths. Nothing beat diving and swimming in the ocean, but her father and mother seldom vacationed by the coast for some reason she never understood.

As the family looked to Elle for final approval of the day's entertainment, she felt torn. She so loved to swim, but she knew that the chances that the pool at Wayne Manor was suitable for her needs were slender. If she agreed, and then discovered that she needed to back out at the last minute, what would her excuse be? For her own protection, her father insisted that she keep certain information about herself secret to prevent people from using her weaknesses against her. But Dick and his family weren't her enemies nor her father's.

Because her mother had the same affliction, Elle really never realized she had inherited it until the year she turned sixteen. All the precautions her father had taken to protect her mother had extended to her simply because she lived within the same household, and she had never understood what she was up against until subjected to the source of her allergy repeatedly. Even her father had been taken by surprise, as like her, he had thought she had escaped the genetic anomaly.

But it had been seven years since her last exposure and reaction. It had taken repeated exposure to cause her initial reaction to begin with. Sure, the doctors had told her that it wasn't something that she would be able to develop a tolerance for, and had even suggested that her reactions in the future could become more severe, but certainly after seven years, it would be as it had been at the beginning . . . She had managed an entire season of competitive swimming before succumbing to the allergen. Surely it would be a non-issue for a single afternoon. Perhaps she would even keep it short by only staying for an hour.

Everyone's expectant, hopeful faces decided her. The risk was worth it. The worst that could happen would be a minor rash that could be controlled with antihistamine. To be on the safe side, however, she would pack her epi-pen of adrenaline in with her towel. That would only be needed in cases of extreme reaction. She had never needed a shot of adrenaline before, though, so she didn't believe she would need one this time either. Her father was just over-protective in his insistence that she continue to carry it with her. Elle had only packed it out of habit.

Dick knew she had been a champion competitive swimmer. The likelihood that he would understand if she told him she was allergic to chlorine was slim. He would more likely think she was rejecting something important to him and his family. And Damian was looking at her so hopefully . . . Yes, she decided, it was worth the risk. What's a little itching among friends, after all?

"I'd love to," Elle told them.

Damian whooped, earning a look of reprimand from Alfred. He quieted, but grinned, totally unrepentant.

"Oh, um," Elle frowned suddenly. "I'm sorry, but I didn't think to pack a bathing suit."

Bruce smiled gently at her as he lifted a cup of Alfred's coffee. "Not a problem," he assured her. "Dick knows where you can find something suitable for a day frolicking by the pool."

She grinned at Dick, looking forward to the unexpected, afternoon treat.


	21. Pledges and Promises

**Dick and Elle suddenly recognize that the something special they had seen in one another is beginning to become something _more_; more than they could have hoped for, and maybe, just maybe, even more than they might have dreamed possible.**

Elle stood gaping at the closet's contents. Sure, she had heard of Bruce Wayne's reputation with the ladies, but . . . Jeez!

"You should be able to find your size in a variety of colors and styles. Whatever you choose will be yours to keep, of course." Dick was saying.

There had to be a hundred different bathing suits lining the closet's racks. How many women had come in here before her? She didn't know what bothered her more: Dick's father's playboy status confirmed in spades or Dick's complete acceptance that keeping entire wardrobes of women's clothing in an entirely male household was normal!

Her eyes perused the size 2's and she swallowed. She would _not_ be intimidated by this . . . Wait! There was a size 0? Oh my God! Who wore a size 0 anyway? Elle looked around, searching for her much larger size 9. She breathed a sigh of relief upon finding it. She was pleased to see that women that ran to size 12's and 14's were still in the running as well. Apparently, Bruce was an equal-opportunity playboy, she thought, amusement edging its way past her disturbance.

"Is something wrong," Dick asked.

"Do you always keep bathing suits and other clothing for female guests to choose from?"

Understanding lit his eyes. To her relief, he blushed. "I guess this kind of looks . . . um . . . uh . . ."

"Bad?" Elle wasn't above teasing him about it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Dick's discomfort was plain to see. It would probably relieve him if she admitted that she didn't think his female guests were shown this room very often. But, somehow it had surprised her that Bruce probably did. Yeah, yeah, he had a reputation that she had already heard about; honestly, who, that ran in their circles, hadn't? But this didn't seem to fit the man she had met.

He seemed a lot quieter than Elle had expected . . . And sober! She had had a mildly disturbing moment when she considered that the man whose reputation had stretched around the globe might possibly hit on his son's girlfriend. She understood within a few minutes in his company that that level of depravity wasn't in him.

She frowned. In fact, the level of depravity that she had expected based upon the things she had heard in whispers during cocktails was nowhere to be found. The Bruce Wayne that Dick had introduced her to was a complete gentleman, not the drunkard and wastrel that had been described to her! He was far more intelligent than she had been led to believe as well. He took an interest in his children's lives, but didn't seem to feel the need to live it for them.

Wow! Her father could learn a thing or two from Mr. Wayne about fatherhood, she thought. But Elle was relieved that Cedric Hamilton didn't keep closets full of women's clothing that didn't belong to his daughter. While she didn't want her father to be alone for the rest of his life, she had always been impressed with his devotion to her mother's memory.

Taking pity on Dick, Elle shoved him out the door. "I'll pick something out, and meet you downstairs."

"If you want," he offered. "You could model a few, and I'll be glad to give you my honest opinion about them."

The flirtatious comment caught her completely by surprise, and Elle burst out laughing. "Oh, wow," she gasped after a few moments. "Does that actually work for you?"

Dick pretended to be offended. "Scads of women would fight for the chance to model bikinis for me," he stated.

She didn't doubt that a bit. "Perhaps, but some of these more complicated bathing suits would be difficult to put on after I scratch their eyes out," she purr into his ear.

He grinned down at her. "You'd really fight for me?"

The moment was a teasing one, but Elle suddenly felt the weight of the topic. She straightened, pulling back out of his arms. "If it were necessary; yes, I would. But I won't fight _you_," she said, seriously. "I just wanted to make that clear."

* * *

><p>Dick frowned at the sudden change in tone. What was she trying to tell him? "I don't understand. You will never need to fight me. I wouldn't ever hurt you, Elle."<p>

"What I mean is that I won't fight to keep someone who isn't faithful to me. I will fight to keep you safe; to keep you healthy; to protect your name and reputation, but I won't fight a woman for you that you go to freely." Elle sighed, leaning back against the door frame of the closet. "We've never really spoken of things like this, but I think that we've progressed far enough that certain expectations should be made clear for the both of us.

"I have no desire to see other men, Dick. I'm not sure I _could_ see more than one man at a time. I'm just not made that way. You might consider me old-fashioned, but this is who I am. If you prefer to see other women while seeing me, then when we go back to Bludhaven we can say our goodbyes before anyone is hurt too badly."

Dick's eyes widened. He didn't know why, but no one else had ever laid it out on the line like that before. Faithfulness was always just a given when one started a new relationship. . . but funny, it often never stayed that way as the relationship progressed. As he thought about it, he was more than a little shocked to realize that he hadn't been completely faithful to any woman he had been with before Elle. Even Kori and Babs . . . But, hell, neither had they been completely faithful to him! Wow! He really _was_ an asshole . . .

But he found that just the idea of Elle being with someone else made his blood pressure rise simply thinking about it. The idea that they would leave tomorrow, say goodbye, and never seeing one another again was abhorrent to him! A little ball of panic fluttered to life in his stomach.

She was searching his face and apparently not liking what she saw there because her smile turned sad. It hurt him, seeing that expression on her. It didn't belong there. He unconsciously lifted a hand to his chest; rubbing the spot over his heart.

"You want complete and utter faithfulness?" He wasn't sure why he phrased it like that, in a question. She hadn't been unclear when stating her expectations to him.

"Yes," she stated unequivocally. "Yes, I do. And you would receive the same from me. Total faithfulness, complete honesty, and absolute loyalty . . . I do not believe that is too much to ask for when I am more than willing to give you the same in return."

Dick blinked. What she asked for was impossible! Oh, not the faithfulness and loyalty part; the way he felt about her after a mere four weeks had him confident that he could give her that, despite his lousy track record. It was the complete honesty that had him hesitating. So far, his '_other_' job hadn't been an issue. They didn't exactly live in each others' pockets. Although the more time he spent with Elle, the more he wanted to be with her. She wasn't clingy; however, so Dick felt reasonably sure it would be a long time before Nightwing would become an issue between them. But he knew that even before his night work became an issue that he would be forced to lie to her, even if only by omission.

She sighed, turning away from him; pretending to browse through the rainbow utopia of pool-wear. "I probably picked out the worst time to bring this up. It's okay, though. I mean, I'd rather know now before I grow . . . too . . . too f-fond of you."

Wait, what? Was she telling him . . . _goodbye_? _No_!

The panic grenade in his stomach just exploded. Dick stepped after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her against him. He didn't think about it, just acted. His mouth crushed hers. It wasn't a sweet kiss or even a passionate one. It was one of possession!

_Mine_! His heart called out. _Mine_! His body demanded. _Mine_! His mind commanded. She would not escape him! He would tell her whatever he had to in order to keep her with him. He would deal with the repercussions later.

Elle's arms slid around his neck. Her hands buried themselves in his black hair, drawing him down to her just as desperately as he felt. He had instigated the kiss, but she gave willingly everything that he demanded from her and took back all that was in him with equal fervency.

"It's already too late," he gasped against her mouth. "You are mine, Arabella Hamilton! You belong to me, and I will _never_ let you go!"

Inside, he winced at his overdramatic statement, positive that his declaration would terrify her, but he couldn't have stopped the words even had he wanted to. But instead of pulling away from him, Elle seemed to cling to him all the more. She looked into his eyes with tearful ones.

"I don't want you to, Richard Grayson," Elle whispered against his lips.

He kissed her again, cupping her face in his hands like a treasure. His heart pounded and his head swam. _Would it always be like this with this woman_, he wondered? He turned so that he could fall back against the wall, pulling her with him against his chest. Hangers and tiny articles of clothing scattered to make room or be crushed. Neither noticed; although, even if they had, they wouldn't have cared.

"I will give you whatever you want so long as you stay with me," he promised her fiercely. "Stay with me, Elle!"

"I will," she promised him. "For as long as you want me, I will stay with you."

His blue, blue eyes met the deep, dark brown of hers, and his lips curved into a smile. "Okay. Forever it is, then."

Eventually Dick's hands slid down over her shoulders and to her waist, gentling as her willingness and acceptance of him reassured him that she wouldn't run from him. There would be no goodbyes; not tomorrow nor any day after that. His mind, caught up in the feel of her against him, likely didn't realize the finality in the ramblings of his heart – not yet, anyway. But there was time now; time to accept the inevitability of what fate had decreed in that moment he had first laid eyes upon her; what it had just reaffirmed the second her arms had accepted him and his lips had claimed hers.

He was doomed.

This one woman had the power to reduce his heart to rubble. At the same time, he knew it as well as he knew his own name that she had saved him. From what, he wasn't certain yet. Something powerful, but yet ambiguous . . . He couldn't name it, but now that he was safe from its shadowy grasp, Dick could feel himself relaxing; the tension flowing out of his body like water, revealing beneath the murky surface that elusive prize that he had only just begun to glimpse since meeting Elle.

Peace.


	22. Confrontation

By the time Elle had found a bathing suit and changed, everyone was already downstairs. Dick was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs in a t-shirt, swimming trunks and a towel. Elle smirked at his choices.

"That's what you are wearing," she asked him, disbelief in her voice. "I thought you said something about wanting to race me."

Dick looked down at his trunks. They were red and loose and hung down to his knees. "What? This is the style, I'll have you know! I didn't think you expected a fashion show at the pool."

She grinned at him, stopping on the bottom tread so she could kiss him without having to stretch. "No, not a fashion show, but maybe some serious competition. You do realize that the drag from those trunks will only slow you down?"

"Mm," he murmured appreciatively against her lips. "Next time I'll wear my Speedos."

Elle snorted with laughter. "Yeah, do that," she giggled. "Wear your Speedos. At least I'll be entertained while I wait for you at the finish line."

Dick pulled playfully at the front of her robe. "So, what do you have under there? Fins?"

She slapped lightly at his hands. "Just the only suit available that I could wear that wouldn't give your little brother details about the female anatomy that he shouldn't get until his honeymoon. You know, Bruce should consider having a larger selection of one-pieces."

Dick was leading her toward the back of the house. There were two entrances to the indoor pool, but the closer one was through the gym. "I'll mention it to him. Eh," he looked back over his shoulder as the doorbell sounded. "I wonder who that could be? Not many people visit us unannounced on a Sunday afternoon."

Elle paused, but Dick tugged her arm.

"Alfred will get it. Whoever it is will want Bruce, not us," he assured her.

Dick opened the door to the gym for her. Elle entered and stared, clearly in awe.

"Wow! Do you guys really use all this stuff? It feels like an Olympic training facility." She stopped to look at the various gymnastic equipment. "Is this yours?"

Dick was grinning, draping an arm across the lower bar of the uneven parallel bars Bruce had put up for him a week after he had first arrived at Wayne Manor. He had still been eight at the time, but Bruce hadn't wanted to wait another two weeks until his ninth birthday to give them to him. It was generally used by women gymnasts, but it helped him greatly on the trapeze when he was young, and even now it continued to help him improve his fighting style and line work.

"Yup," he said. "Although Bruce and my brothers will occasionally use them as well. They are mostly just mine."

Elle's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, touching the oiled leather of the pommel horse. "Will you show me some of your moves before we leave?"

Dick's smile faltered for a second, but Elle wasn't looking at him to notice. "Uh, sure," he told her. "But I'm kind of out of practice. I'm not as good as I used to be."

Elle looked back at him, knowingly. "You are better than I am, so that makes you pretty good. I always wanted to learn gymnastics."

"Why didn't you?"

She shrugged, trailing her hand across the balance beam next. "I don't know. I mean, I've done some tumbling and a few flips, but I'm not really a gymnast. Everything was always geared towards swimming. The little bit that I have done was only to improve my dives. But if you want to give me a few lessons, I might not fall out of the canoe the next time we go to the lake."

"Consider it done, my lady," Dick promised, laughing as he bowed low. "But now about the pool . . . Everyone is probably already in there."

Elle moved towards the wall of windows that separated the pool area from the gym. She could see three sets of diving boards at the far end through the great expanse of glass.

"It looks to be huge!"

"It is," Dick said. "The outdoor pool is Olympic size, but this one is a close second."

"How deep is it," she asked, getting excited. She loved diving and swimming along the bottom.

"Twenty feet. Bruce will sometimes use it or the outdoor pool to practice scuba diving."

"Do you dive?"

"We were all certified; here and in the ocean." He nodded.

"I was, too. I dive in the Lake as well," she said. Of course, she seldom dived deep enough that she needed scuba gear, although her father and brother often chose to use the gear when they would dive with her.

She credited her powerful lungs to both singing and diving. She still held the record for holding her breath the longest in her school. She never really pushed the envelope, however, and would surface before she actually needed to breathe.

Dick pulled the door to the pool open, and Elle stepped in. Everyone waved and called greetings to them, but Elle's attention was elsewhere as a wave of warm, chlorine-scented air washed over her.

She gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Her face grew noticeably paler. Dick grabbed her arm immediately, as he had been watching for her reaction to the pool as they entered. He just hadn't expected her to nearly faint.

"What's wrong? Here, sit down before you fall down," he said, leading her to a lounge chair.

"No! Not here," she wheezed. "Outside . . . the gym."

"What? Oh, okay, sure," Dick did a one-eighty, helping her back to the gym. He was alarmed by the sudden pallor, the sheen of sweat, and the trembling, but it was her breathing that frightened him most. She sounded like she was having a full-blown asthma attack.

Damian was climbing the ladder to the high dive, but Bruce and Tim had been watching, and were now rushing out of the pool to see what the matter was. Grabbing their towels, they followed the couple back out into the gym.

Elle's legs were wobbly, but she was determined to get as far from the pool as possible before collapsing. She could barely speak as it was.

"Elle, you need to sit down," Dick was telling her. He looked a little pale himself.

"There," she pointed to the mats against the wall. It wasn't far enough, but it was as far as she could manage. "Over . . . there," she panted.

They hadn't taken many steps when the doors to the gym were pushed open and three men barreled in. As soon as they spotted Elle, they bee-lined to her. Bruce scowled at the invasion and moved to intercept them, Tim right behind him.

"Who the hell are you," he growled. "What the hell are you doing in my home? Where's Alfred?"

One of the men stopped in front of him, but the other two merely circled around him. Tim jumped in front of one of the men, blocking his path.

"We're not here for trouble," the first man told Bruce.

"That's interesting, because you've managed to find it anyway!"

"We're here for Arabella," he finished.

The third man shoved Dick away, grabbing Elle's arm roughly. "It's time for you to go home, miss," he exclaimed.

Dick spun around, moving into a fighting stance. "Take your hands off of her – NOW!"

She gaped to discover her father's bodyguard attempting to drag her bodily towards the door. "Lazlo? . . . What are . . . you doing here?" She looked around her. "Where is . . . Poppa? He must be . . . here somewhere!"

Her breathing was improving, and some color was slowly returning to her face, but she still felt weakened by just that simple exposure. That had never happened to her before. Hours of exposure to chlorine in the air could make her hoarse, and give her a bit of a cough, but never had it affected her breathing – and so quickly!

Dick grabbed Lazlo's wrist, squeezing a pressure point in order to get him to release Elle's arm. He whipped it behind Lazlo's back and shoved him away from them both.

"You don't touch her," he snarled at the man.

Lazlo spun around, and took a threatening step in Dick's direction. "I'm about to teach you some manners, boy!"

"Lazlo!" The man speaking to Bruce yelled at Cedric Hamilton's personal bodyguard. "You're not allowed to touch Miss Bella," he growled.

Her wits returning and her breath caught, Elle stared at the other two men. "Hugh? Edward? What are you doing here? Where is Poppa?"

"I'm right here," Cedric Hamilton, cane in hand, came through the door to the gym with Alfred. His second bodyguard, Hendricks, trailed behind him. "And you, young lady, are going home to Chicago! No arguments!"

"No, Poppa, I'm not," Elle straightened. She could not show weakness to this man. Beloved daughter or not, weakness in front of him was much like blood in the water was for a shark.

"You will, whether you like it or not. Do you realize what it was like for me to see you on the evening news last night? A police shootout? Diving off of bridges after cars?" He paused a moment to take in the scene around him. Instead of calming down, his face reddened with anger. "And now what is this? You planned to swim," he sniffed the air. "In a chlorinated pool, no less?"

Dick glanced at Elle, confused and angry with this unwanted intrusion. Her face paled once more at her father's words. "Elle, you still need to sit down."

"This only proves that you are not ready to go out on your own if this is an example of the kind of decisions you make for yourself."

"Cedric Hamilton, I presume," Bruce moved to intercept the elder man, his hand extended.

Cedric looked Bruce up and down. "Wayne." He nodded, brusquely. "Keep your paws off of my daughter."

"Poppa," Elle gasped, as Bruce goggled. "Mr. Wayne is my host!"

"That's not what he looks like from here," Cedric harrumphed. "The man's standing in front of my daughter in his skivvies!"

Elle had had enough. Recovered sufficiently, she stormed forward. She always granted the man respect, never arguing with him in public, but she knew they were not going to have that kind of luxury here; not if she planned to stay. And the one thing that she knew absolutely would _not_ happen this day was returning to Chicago.

Grabbing Dick's hand, she pulled him after her. Stopping in front of her father, she presented him. "Poppa, _this_ is the man I am seeing: Richard Grayson. He's the adopted son of Mr. Wayne; his _eldest_ son." She tossed that bit of info in because her ridiculously old-fashioned father would consider it important. "Dick, this is my father: Cedric Hamilton."

Cedric's eyes narrowed as he took Dick apart and put him back together again in a few seconds. "The cop?" He looked back at his daughter. "You are dating that cop on television; the one who was wearing that ludicrous bat suit."

Elle stepped in front of Dick, to better confront her father's rudeness. "Yes," she hissed, as angry at the man than she had ever been before. "I am dating that _hero_ who saved a woman's life despite his own injuries. I am dating a man who has consistently put my feelings and needs in front of his own since we met. I am dating a man of strength, courage, and integrity; someone who puts himself on the line for the good of others. And you _will_ treat him and his family with respect or the conversation is _over_. Do you understand me?"

* * *

><p>There was a moment of stunned silence following that statement. Cedric stared at his daughter with an unreadable expression. If he were waiting for her to flinch or back down, he knew he would be waiting until the apocalypse. This was why he wanted her in the business. Damn, but she would be something to see glaring down her competition over a negotiation table!<p>

He understood her perfectly also. Likely Wayne didn't, at least not yet. He wasn't certain about Grayson, however, but they probably didn't understand what she had meant by "over". He did. If he didn't do as she demanded, there would be no more conversations – ever. All conversations would be over as far as she was concerned, and he would lose her. His little girl never did anything by halves. She chose her fights with care, but when she did step into the ring, you could bet your bottom dollar that she would come out on top.

Cedric sighed, conceding defeat. The conversation was not over, however. But he wasn't a fool, either. He knew when to strategically retreat.

He pursed his lips, considering the couple in front of him. Grayson was eyeing him like a lion did a piece of steak. Cedric could tell he didn't often allow someone to fight his battles for him, but apparently his little Bella found a man who did indeed respect her enough to represent him. They appeared united in this. The edges of his lips quirked up at that idea.

He liked that, he decided; the two of them against the world. He stuck his hand out to the young man hovering protectively at Arabella's shoulder. "Grayson, it's a pleasure." Dick shook his hand cautiously. He didn't return Cedric's smile.

He turned around to face Wayne. "Forgive my intrusion, Wayne. I was wrong in my assumptions."

Bruce shook Cedric's hand, but his expression remained reserved as well. Fine, Cedric could respect that. He had just barged into the man's home without even a phone call, and then proceeded to insult both the man and his family.

"Now, then," he said, turning back to his daughter. "Since this conversation is far from over, can we complete it in some semblance of privacy?"

"You can use my study," Bruce offered, rather graciously, Cedric thought.

"No, we will have it here," Elle stated. "We can step over here," she indicated a spot near the windows overlooking the pool.

"Ever the defiant lass, aren't you," he asked, even as he used his cane to limp in the direction she indicated.

"You love that about me," she said. "Admit it."

He smiled. Yes, he did.


	23. A Little History

"Now I suppose you are going to try to convince me to trust your judgment," Cedric said the moment they had moved out of hearing.

"Since when have you been using a cane," Elle asked, changing the subject.

He shrugged. "A couple of weeks. The doctor recommended it."

Elle frowned. "Are you still having problems with dizziness and weakness?"

Cedric murmured a non-response. "I am here to discuss you, young lady."

Elle blew at her breathe and wandered close to one of the windows overlooking the pool. She knew it would drive her father nuts. "There is nothing to discuss. I'm afraid you made this trip unnecessarily. You really should have called first."

"Would you have answered?"

Elle thought about it for a moment. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "When I got home tomorrow for sure, but here? I didn't realize that you would see that interview. Had I known, I would have called you first."

"And when were you planning on telling me that you were dating the son of Bruce Wayne?"

Elle looked at her father and scoffed. "Don't pretend you didn't know about him within minutes of my meeting him. You've had Edward and Hugh following me around for months."

"Mm," Cedric's response what non-committal.

"And pretending you thought I was dating Mr. Wayne was really just too bad of you."

Cedric snorted with repressed laughter. "His face was truly a sight, was it not?"

"I'm surprised he was willing to shake your hand later," Elle scolded. "This habit of yours of putting everyone in the room off-balance is annoying outside of the boardroom, Poppa."

She turned to watch Damian do a back flip off of the middle diving board. The boy was having so much fun he hadn't even noticed or cared about the drama happening out here. She couldn't help feeling a momentary pang of jealousy as he bobbed back to the surface and swam toward the ladder.

"You could have that again if you would just come home, Bella," her father said, quietly. "You could swim every day without worry."

"That's not fair, Poppa," she sighed. "To give up everything just to be able to swim? That is exactly why I have spent so many years yearning to get out on my own. My life isn't up for negotiation!"

"Of course it is," Cedric disagreed. "Everything you do in life is a negotiation!"

"It shouldn't be," she replied, hotly. "Not with family!"

"But you did miss it, didn't you . . . Swimming?"

"You know I did," she glared at him. "It was why I am down here in a bathing suit, after all."

Cedric tsked at her. "You would risk your life for this, but refuse to come home where you had unlimited access?"

Angry, Elle turned back to the window. Damian attempted a double somersault from the middle board. _His form is off_, she thought. _He needs to get more height, tuck tighter for more speed_. His entry was too large because he hadn't quite made it out of his last turn before he met the water.

"I wasn't risking anything. I took an antihistamine earlier and I have my epi-pen of adrenaline in my pocket," she patted the robe where the pen was tucked. "Which I will remind you, I have never needed before. I thought this through, Poppa. It has been seven years since I last had a reaction, and that one only happened after continuous repeated exposures during the championship meet. I figured that I could manage an hour without a problem, and maybe, at most, have a little bit of itchiness later on."

Cedric shook his head. "The doctors told you that each reaction would be worse than the last; that there wasn't the possibility of building up a tolerance. The amount of time between exposures doesn't matter."

"I know all that," she argued. "But doctors are not infallible!"

"And yet look at you," he pointed at her. "You are still dry, and yet you are pale and breathless. You aren't even in the same room, and you can't even breathe!"

"That's not true," she told him. "I went into the pool area before I had any problem. As soon as I recognized that I might be having a bit of trouble, I immediately left the area."

Cedric narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "So, I am right. You didn't even have to touch the chlorine before it began affecting you, did you? The chlorine in the air alone did this to you!"

Elle watched as Damian started pulling himself up the tallest dive's ladder. "I'll admit it was scary fast this time. I was just about to tell Dick about the allergy when Edward, Hugh, and Lazlo barged in."

Cedric scowled. "You didn't bother to tell him about your allergy to chlorine beforehand? What if you had dived in and became unconscious? He wouldn't have known what to do for you! Did you even tell him about the epi-pen in your pocket?"

"My reaction wasn't all that bad the last time," she defended. "How was I to know it would be this bad? It's been seven years . . ."

"Yes, so you keep saying," Cedric grumbled. "Bella, you are all that's left of my Esmeralda. I could not bear to lose you, too."

Elle's eyes followed Damian as he made his way to the end of the board. Maybe the extra height would give him time to complete both somersaults . . . She wanted to be out there with him. She could tell him what he was doing wrong, and teach him numerous other tricks. Maybe how to add a twist to his somersaults . . .

"You aren't going to lose me, Poppa," she told him. "But another stunt like this, and you might just succeed in driving me away permanently. You're actions are unacceptable to me!"

* * *

><p>Bruce was furious with the intrusion, but then, Dick was, too. Alfred was upset because he had allowed the men entry, only to have three of them run off on him without an escort.<p>

Dick glanced over his shoulder at Elle and her father having a semi-heated discussion. He couldn't hear anything, however, which drove him a little crazy. Surely the man wouldn't convince her to return to Chicago . . .

His worry about that scenario was tempered by the warmth that Elle's vigorous defense of him had created. She didn't even know about his other life as Nightwing, and yet she called him a '_hero_'! She saw qualities in his character that weren't as obvious to one who was not also familiar with his alter-ego. Dick had had the feeling that standing up to her father was a problem, and yet she had demanded that the man treat not only Dick, but the rest of his family with respect. He had been almost as surprised that Cedric Hamilton had given in to her without argument as he had been with her description of his character.

Well, she had just an hour ago told him she would fight for him, hadn't she? Who knew she would get that opportunity so soon?

But what had really gotten to him the most was the sincerity he and everyone present had heard in her voice. She had meant every word . . . His heart seemed to beat a little harder, a little faster, because of it.

He turned his attention onto the three bodyguards. Two he had seen before. Elle had pointed them out to him the first night they had gone out for coffee. He managed to ignore them for the most part, and didn't begrudge her the extra protection. He remembered the man who had attacked her previously, and the actions of those three men in the club. What might have happened had he and Bruce not been there?

"You are Hamilton's guard, Lazlo," Hugh was snarling. "You do not have the right to lay hands on Miss Arabella! You protect Hamilton and leave his daughter to Edward and me."

Lazlo scoffed. "If you two were doing your jobs correctly, then Miss Arabella would still be home in Chicago instead of worrying her father."

"Gentlemen, enough!" Bruce glared at the four men. "Neither needs your protection while in my house. I think it would be better for all concerned if you would remove yourselves to your vehicle post haste."

"I disagree, Mr. Wayne," Edward replied. "Just the fact that Miss Arabella was planning to go swimming here is concern enough. And you," he pointed a finger at Dick. "You were just going to let her?"

Taken aback by the accusation, Dick argued. "She likes to swim. It was the only reason we offered! You keep talking like swimming is a bad thing for her, but I've seen her swim in a lake and in the Gotham River already."

Hugh waved his argument away. "That's different."

Tim frowned, speaking up for the first time. "How so?"

The two men glanced at each other and frowned at the boy.

"Wait," Hugh held up a hand. "You don't know, do you?"

Dick shook his head, confused. "Know what?"

Edward looked at Hugh. "She didn't tell him."

"Tell me what?" Dick's voice was rising with his frustration.

Hugh blew out a frustrated breath of his own. "Arabella is allergic to chlorine," he stated. "Severely allergic . . ."

Dick blinked. "What?"

Bruce moved closer. "Why would she not tell us this?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she wanted to impress you? Maybe she was embarrassed? Maybe she just wanted to swim, you know? It has been many years since the last incident. Maybe she thought it wouldn't be a problem if she didn't stay in water long."

Hugh explained a little bit more. "The first and last time it became an issue was during the championship swim meet at the end of the competitive season when she was sixteen. Her father had paid to replace the school's pool with a specialized salt water pool. When he learned that she had wanted to join the swim team, he had volunteered to replace the pools at all the schools that she would be competing at."

Edward took over the explanation. "Mrs. Hamilton, Arabella's mother, also had an allergy to chlorine. It had been hoped that Arabella hadn't inherited the allergy, but it was never really tested because all of the changes Mr. Hamilton had made to accommodate his wife benefited their daughter as well. The pool renovations were done just in case. No one, however, expected Arabella to do quite so well."

"I don't know why since the girl and her mother both swam like fish. Perhaps because there had never been any competition to compare them to . . . No one realized how good they actually were," Hugh said.

Edward continued the story. "She basically blew all the competition out of the water." Hugh groaned at the pun, but Edward went on, ignoring him. "It was at the championship meet that the problem emerged. It was held at a different location. At first, Arabella did great with no noticeable problems, but with each consecutive event, she grew paler, weaker, slower. Amazingly enough, however, she still won, but upon exiting the pool that final time, her lips had turned blue and her skin blotchy. She began hyperventilating, and finally collapsed. She spent a week in the hospital."

Hugh nodded. "She was better in just a few hours, but no one knew what had caused the problem, so she remained while the doctors ran test after test."

"Turns out that, like her mother, Arabella is allergic to chlorine. Not just allergic, however . . . Chlorine is like a poison to her. It affects everything! And worse, the doctors told her that she cannot build an immunity to it. Each exposure has the potential to be worse than the last, with devastating results if not prepared. She carries an epi-pen of adrenaline with her everywhere." Edward looked at Dick. "She didn't show you the pen?"

Dick shook his head.

"But there is chlorine in the drinking water," Tim said.

Dick slapped his head. "She only drinks bottled water."

Hendricks spoke up. "Made by Hamilton Industries. Also, I was with Mr. Hamilton when he ordered the work done on her apartment. There are specialized filters that reduce the chlorine in all the water there to almost non-existent levels, just in case. No one really knows exactly how much chlorine it takes to cause a reaction."

Dick looked devastated himself. He had no idea . . . Remembering her reaction to just the chlorine in the air, the idea of what might have happened had she actually dove into the pool was frightening.

A terrified cry went up behind him. All of the men spun around, looking for the threat.

"Stop her," Cedric Hamilton yelled.

* * *

><p><strong>More questions . . . Soon. The answers will come soon! More excitement coming up! <strong>


	24. Bad Reaction

**Chlorine in its concentrated form is poisonous to humans, but in regulated increments, diluted, it is rather harmless. Allergic or poisonous reactions to this chemical do not produce the symptoms I describe here. Also, an EpiPen _ISN'T_ used for chlorine poisoning, but this is fiction and I can do what I want. The only factual thing I have included about the EpiPen is the way it is administered (in the thigh and held for several seconds). **_**Using this pen in any manner other than the way it is intended could result in severe consequences and DEATH.**_** This is FICTION, my friends. I created this reaction and treatment because nothing else would have suited the plot.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Elle was listening to her father talk as she continued to watch Damian perfect his diving technique. He really shouldn't be diving while alone, but Elle could hardly complain since she had been known to sneak down to the pool for midnight swims while living at home. She didn't say anything since she and her father were right there watching . . . Well, she was watching, at least. Her father was still ranting at her – civilly, for once.<p>

Damian moved to the end of the highest diving board, and positioned himself. Elle ignored her father's words as she concentrated on his form. She frowned. Damian's feet weren't extended far enough out for a back flip. If he didn't project himself away from the board with extra force . . . Elle's eyes widened, and she slapped her palm against the glass.

"Damian, NO," She screamed.

But even as she screamed, the boy jumped and managed a partial flip before smacking his forehead on the edge of the board. It was obvious even before he hit the water that he was unconscious.

Jerking her robe off, Elle sprinted toward the door to the pool. She wasn't so focused on Damian that she wasn't fully aware of what she was about to do. She wasn't a fool, but the boy was important to Dick! He was important to _her_! They had bonded in the music room . . . At least, Elle had. She couldn't just stand by; not while she was the boy's best chance!

The pool was incredibly deep, built as it was for scuba diving. Unconscious, Damian's body would quickly sink to uncomfortable levels. Elle knew she was better than most at handling the pressure and could hold her breath longer than the average person. And she was fast in the water; very fast!

Remembering her reaction to the chlorinated air, Elle took three deep consecutive breaths; holding the last one as she burst into the pool room. In five steps she was launching herself forward into a shallow dive.

It was like immersing herself in liquid fire, and almost caused her to release her precious air in a gasp of pain. Her vision wavered, but she could still see shapes. She pushed herself faster. It wouldn't save Damian if she lost consciousness before she rescued him. Worse, she would distract attention away from him if she ended up needing rescued alongside him!

Damian was nothing but a shadow that was sinking fast. When she reached him, Elle pinched his nose and blew what was left of the air in her lungs into his mouth, hoping it would give him an extra minute. She was already growing weak. Could she get him to the surface without a push? Eyeing the bottom, she judged it to only be a few feet away.

She sank down until her feet touched the bottom, and bent her knees. Then, in one massive effort, Elle shoved off, propelling herself upward with incredible force. As she jetted past Damian she thrust one arm under his and pulled him with her; kicking hard to keep her momentum from slowing.

The pain was growing steadily worse. Her lungs were burning now. Her vision was darkening, tunneling, but she could still make out shadows rushing to meet her near the side of the pool. As she broke the surface, she shoved Damian up and into the waiting arms of his family. As soon as she felt his weight disappear, Elle fell back into the pool of what felt like burning acid. Her body jolted as she began to seize, her lungs and stomach filling as she gasped; breathing in and swallowing the contaminated water.

She was dying.

It was her last thought when the darkness finally consumed her.

* * *

><p>Dick spun around at Elle's scream. He caught the barest glimpse of something falling past the window.<p>

Damian!

Even before any of them could react, Elle was stripping off her robe and rushing into the pool room.

_No_, his mind screamed.

He knew she was going to try to save his brother, but his mind was full with all he just learned about her. The raw fear in her father's face told him that she wouldn't come out of this as she had from the swim in the river. He raced after her. If he could stop her from diving into the pool, he could go in after Damian himself, and let her bodyguards pull her out of the poisonous air.

Dick was the first to burst through the door. He looked, but Elle was already nearly to his brother. _Damn_, he thought, _she _was_ fast_!

He saw her pause beside his brother's unconscious body, then sink the last few feet to the bottom. She didn't give him long to wonder what she was doing before she thrust herself up at a speed he knew the average human couldn't achieve while moving through the density of water. She caught his brother and continued upward, her speed not slowing visibly.

Dick reached the side of the pool at the same time Bruce did. They stuck their arms out simultaneously just as Elle surfaced, practically throwing the boy to them. He and Bruce caught Damian's limp body, and pulled him to safety, but not before Dick caught the briefest glimpse of Elle. Her skin was a mass of blotchy red welts. Her teeth had been clenched tight against what must be terrible pain; her lips were already tinged blue.

As soon as Dick was assured that Bruce had Damian secure in his arms, he turned and dove in after Elle. It had only taken that one glimpse to know she was in serious trouble. He saw her sinking below him, unable to swim to him now. Even in the water, he could tell her skin was beginning to blister. He saw another figure dive in to the water from his periphery. One of her bodyguards, he thought. _Hugh_ . . .

Dick reached her first.

She began to seize even as he reached for her. He had a hard time keeping his arm around her. He kicked hard, struggling to pull her convulsing body through the poisonous water. Then suddenly Hugh was there. He grabbed her under one arm and Dick switched his hold to match; the two men swimming hard to reach the surface. Edward and Lazlo leaned down, and took her from them as soon as they broke the surface; dragging her away from the pool's edge.

Dick pushed himself out of the water, glancing in Bruce's direction. Damian was leaning on his side, coughing up water and dripping blood from a cut across the center of his forehead. He was going to be all right. Bruce waved at Dick, leaving him free to go to Elle's side without worry over his brother. Bruce, Tim, and Alfred had Damian.

He crawled to Elle side as soon as he cleared the side of the pool, and gasped at her condition. Her entire body was bright red and covered with raised blisters. Blue veins were visible lacing across her skin. Her lips, fingertips, and toes were already blue. Her body was spasming beneath the multiple hands that held her down.

"Oh my God," he cried out. "Elle!"

What should he do? He kneeled next to her feeling overwhelmed and helpless. He didn't know how to help her! Was she even breathing?

Someone held the EpiPen out to him from over his shoulder. He stared at the fat syringe. When he hesitated, Edward grabbed it and punched it into Elle's thigh; holding it there for several seconds. Shortly after that, Elle coughed, and rolled onto her elbows and knees. Her whole body convulsed as she retched large amounts of pool water; ejecting it violently from her body.

"Do you have a shower close?"

Dick pointed in the direction of the locker room doors as Bruce answered for him with an affirmative.

"Hurry," her father commanded. "We have to get her stripped and the pool water off of her!"

He turned to Alfred. "You have bottled water here?"

Alfred's usual reserve appeared shaken by what they had all witnessed, but he answered quickly, used to Bat family medical emergencies. "Yes, I purchased a case when Miss Arabella requested your company's brand."

"Get it," he barked. "We have to flush as much of it out of her system as possible!"

Edward picked up Elle's now-limp body, and he and Hugh rushed her to the locker room, and the life-saving shower. Dick stumbled to his feet. Cedric grabbed a hold of his arm, but turned toward Bruce; his eyes on the recovering child.

"Is the boy all right?" His voice was gentle for once.

Bruce was looking a little wide-eyed himself, but nodded to the older man. "Yes. I think he'll be fine. Your daughter got to him quickly. Thank you."

Cedric grimaced, but nodded his head in acknowledgement. He turned away, pulling Dick with him.

"I hope Elle will be all right," Bruce called after him. "I've never seen a reaction like that before."

Cedric paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Unfortunately, I have, although it wasn't as bad as this one." He turned back in the direction of the locker room.

"If you are serious about my daughter at all, then you need to be there to see this," the older man told Dick, as he used him for support. His cane had disappeared somewhere. Probably it was back in the gymnasium. "I hope you aren't squeamish."

Dick swallowed. He had never been squeamish before, but then he had never watched a woman he had only just accepted that he loved nearly die in such a nightmarish fashion. He felt dazed and horrified. He followed her father because he couldn't _not_ follow the man. But he walked a little faster; suddenly desperate to see Elle; to hold her, to help her in some way.

"My God, if she knew that could happen, what was she thinking," Dick asked, helping the man across the wet concrete.

Cedric looked up at the young man his daughter so obviously cared for. "Well, she didn't think _this_ would happen," he admitted. "Otherwise, I doubt she would have ever agreed to swim in the first place. But I'm fairly certain after breathing just the chlorinated air in here that she had an inkling of what the water would do to her. The first time wasn't fun, but it also wasn't nearly this severe."

"She should have let me go after Damian," Dick muttered.

"Hm, perhaps, but perhaps not," Elle's father said cryptically. "I doubt the boy would be recovering quite so quickly without my Bella's aid. She had pulled him out of the water just as you and your father arrived. Had he been under longer, his recovery might have been a bit more harrowing."

They pushed the locker room door open. "I love my brother, Mr. Hamilton, but I can't say that I would willingly trade Elle's life for his."

Cedric cocked an eyebrow. "You would prefer to save her life over his?"

"_No_! That isn't what I meant," Dick growled. He could hear the water running from the shower room. "I just hate that either of them were hurt."

* * *

><p>Cedric didn't speak, but the first smile since seeing that news broadcast the previous evening crossed his face. He couldn't imagine even one of those namby-pamby elitists that he had been forcing on his daughter as escorts for the past six years would have been willing to walk in here with him after witnessing the scene by the pool. One look at those blisters would have sent every single one of them scurrying out of the room and out of his daughter's life without a second glance.<p>

Well, he thought. Let's see what this fellow is made of . . .


	25. Rinse and Repeat

The shower was on as Dick and Elle's father, Cedric, entered the women's locker room. They moved quickly to the shower room. Dick was startled to see her bodyguards under the water with her.

"Oh my God," he whispered.

She looked awful! Her skin was still red and raw, covered in blisters and welts. The blue veins were fading at least, and though her lips were still colorless, they and her fingertips were no longer blue. She was wheezing, and looked like she kept phasing in and out of consciousness.

"What do I do," he turned panicked eyes toward her father. He was praying the man had a clue what to do for her.

Cedric barked to her guards. "Is she conscious enough to help?"

Edward nodded.

"She's in and out, but she's trying to help. Not dead weight," Hugh confirmed.

"Good," he said. "Mr. Grayson, take over for Hugh. Hugh, I need towels and a dry robe. Edward, you will be getting the bottled water from the butler. He should be here any minute."

The men left Dick sitting on the floor of the shower with Elle leaning back against his chest. The water poured over her head, and down her body. He looked up at Cedric a little helplessly.

"What do I do now," he asked.

Hugh was handing Cedric a half a dozen towels. The man turned and threw a couple to Dick. He caught them in one hand, but they became as soaked as he was in seconds.

"You've been dating my daughter for a while now," Cedric began. He raised a questioning brow at the younger man.

"About a month," he agreed.

"Hm," Cedric tightened his lips, and glanced at the guards. Edward had just walked in with a case of Hamilton Springs Water. "You two go out and dry off. Wait in the hall until I call you," he addressed the two men.

Once they walked off, Cedric looked back at the man cradling his baby girl, and heaved a sigh. "Now then, Mr. Grayson, when I turn my back, you need to strip her of her bathing suit, and cover her with the towels I gave you."

Dick's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. "What? Y-you want me to do what?"

Cedric frowned. He hadn't expected the man to be prudish. "You aren't sleeping with her?"

Dick goggled at the man. His face must have turned a brilliant red because he felt as though his face would burst in to flames any minute. "Sir . . ." He stopped, simply because he didn't know what to say.

Cedric grunted, shaking his head. "Well, this makes things a bit awkward," he muttered.

"_You think_!" Dick gaped.

"Well, there's no helping it. I can't do it, and I'd prefer her bodyguards didn't do it. This is an all-male household, apparently, so it looks as though you are it, Mr. Grayson. She can't wait for the paramedics, not that they would know what to do for her." Cedric shook his head. "I never expected to be in this predicament," he sighed. "You have to do as I say, Mr. Grayson. We can't take the chance that that bathing suit is holding any chlorinated water against her skin. She needs it off, now! After that, I will toss you several bottles that you will need to get her to drink."

With that, Cedric walked away from the shower entrance. Dick looked down into Elle's face. She appeared to be out of it at the moment. He really didn't want to do this without her permission, however. He patted her face gently, wincing at the feel of her blistered skin beneath his hands. He prayed he wasn't hurting her, but her skin looked incredibly painful.

"Elle, wake up," he crooned to her. "I need you to wake up, Elle."

She moaned miserably. Her voice sounded as raw as her skin looked. He remembered then the sight of her body shuddering violently as she retched up pool water. The idea that she was like this _inside_ and out made him cringe in sympathy.

"Elle, please," he begged.

Her eyes flutter open and he nearly groaned for her. The whites of her eyes looked solid red. God, could she even see? Could the chlorine have blinded her?

"Dick," she gasped; her voice, barely even a croak.

It made him want to weep! Her beautiful voice!

"Elle, I have to get your bathing suit off of you. I'm sorry, but your father insisted, and apparently I'm the only one who can do it."

Her face scrunched in misery, her eyes clenching tight. "I don't want you to see me like this," she whined, painfully.

"I can close my eyes," he offered.

She choked back a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dick. I should have told you."

Closing his eyes, he began to peel off the straps of the pretty, emerald one-piece. "You should have," he agreed. "So, why didn't you?"

"I didn't think it would be like this. It took multiple exposures to get a reaction the first time, and it wasn't anything like this. The air didn't bother me at all back then."

He help her push the suit down, taking care he kept his hands in neutral places. "You still should have told me. We didn't have to swim."

"But I wanted to," she whined pitifully. "It's been months. I thought an hour wouldn't hurt. It would have only been for an hour." She broke off with a deep, hacking cough that shook her entire body.

It took some doing, but between them, they managed to slide the suit off of her a minute later. Dick reached blindly beside him for a towel. He spread it carefully over her shoulders and breasts. The second towel covered her from her waist to her knees. He opened his eyes.

"I wonder how long it will take before the ambulance arrives," he murmured.

"I doubt they will be coming," she told him.

"Wait, what?" He looked at her in shock.

Elle shrugged. "There is nothing they can do anyway. I'll just sleep it off.

Dick was frowning in earnest now. "That's crazy! You can barely breathe! And your skin . . ."

Actually, her skin was looking better. Everywhere the water hit, her skin's coloring seemed to be fading. It was no longer an angry red; just more of an irritated pink. The veins had practically disappeared, and her lips were regaining some color. She still coughed up water, though, and Dick was afraid she might end up with pneumonia.

"Is Damian okay," she asked once she had caught her breath again.

He smiled. "Yeah, he's fine. The kid's resilient as hell, but his forehead will probably need stitches."

She smiled, too. "Good. That's good. There was a lot of blood in the water," she said. "I was worried."

"He was awake and sitting up when your dad and I came in here." Dick sighed. "Elle, you should have let me go after him. Why didn't you wait for me?"

"He sank too deep. It would have been harder for you; taken too long. I knew I could get him out before anyone else could even get into the water."

She was right about that. She had been practically tossing Damian at them just as he and Bruce arrived at the pool's edge. Damian would have been in the water at least another three minutes or more had his rescue depended upon them. It was like her father said, the outcome might have been much different had Damian had to wait for Dick or Bruce; much less happy.

He remembered seeing her in action, despite what the chlorine had done to her. She had been magnificent . . . _And_ really, really fast!

"You were amazing," he told her.

Amazingly enough, she laughed at him. "Told you I was good."

"You are more than good," he whispered in her ear.

Cedric's voice floated to them from around the corner. "Are you decent, Bella?"

Elle glanced down at herself. More decent than she had been in her bathing suit, she thought. The two towels Dick had spread over her covered all but her lower legs. She frowned down at them. They still looked far more irritated than the rest of her, but of course, stretched out like they were; they were getting far less rinsing than the rest of her.

"Yes, Poppa," she called out. Her voice was extremely hoarse. She sounded nothing like herself.

* * *

><p>Cedric moved into the entrance; his eyes going straight to the couple on the tiled floor. His daughter was more awake and aware than she had been previously, but what surprised him was that she was smiling. She was reclined back against Grayson's chest, her head on his shoulder, and he was speaking into her ear as she grinned at him despite the pain he knew her to be in.<p>

Grayson was taking turns holding her arms under the spray, and lifting up Bella's long hair so the water could run down her neck and shoulders. Despite the terrible blisters, she was looking, by far better than she had only a few minutes ago.

"You will need to make certain her back is rinsed," he told the young man. "And start getting her to drink this," he added, tossing a bottle to him.

Cedric had retrieved his cane, but was by no means steady on his feet enough to attempt walking on the wet tiles. He sat on the bench provided, the case of water next to him. It gave him an excellent view to observe the couple's interaction. It would have been better to judge had he the opportunity to watch them from afar. This close, they might act differently because of his presence.

He stretched his legs out in front of him. They were aching. Of course, all of him was aching. The doctors had told him that would only get worse, despite the painkillers he was on. He could ask for stronger doses, but that would only make his mind too sluggish to do the things he still needed to do. He was running out of time.

* * *

><p>Dick opened the water bottle and held it up to Elle's lips. He winced because even they were blistered and swollen. Honestly, he was surprised her throat wasn't swollen shut. His mind shied from the thought of what might have happened to her had it taken them longer to pull her from the pool. She hadn't been in the water long. Less time than Damian, and he had been recovering nicely when Dick had disappeared into the locker room with Cedric.<p>

Elle drank the water greedily, and Dick had to pull it away when she choked. Her father tossed him another as soon as she had finished the first. The second one was finished in record time. He was opening the third bottle when Elle held up her hand. Her face was scrunched in either concentration or pain; he didn't know which and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

"Elle," he asked gently. "What's wrong? What can I do to help?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes. Her breathing was becoming erratic.

He looked to her father. "What's wrong with her now? I thought your water was supposed to help her!"

Cedric looked regretful. "It is," he reassured him, but Dick didn't feel reassured.

Suddenly, Elle twisted in his arms; turning her head to the side, she vomited. All the water she had previously drank come up. Dick gasped, clutching her shoulders in support. The water was tinged a deep pink! She was vomiting blood.

"Oh my God, Mr. Hamilton," he yelled. "It's bloody! She's vomiting up blood!"

"I know," Cedric said, irritatingly calm. "That is what must happen."

"What?" Dick gaped at him.

The man could have warned him. Dick's heart was racing with his fear for her. Dick held her hair back out of the way. He felt so damned helpless, and he hated not knowing what was happening.

"You need to tell me what the hell is happening; why and what more to expect! No more of this cryptic bullshit! How do I help her?"

"Did she tell you of the family legend?"

Grayson stared at the man. "What? What has that to do with anything?"

"Answer the question," he barked.

"Yes, she told me," he snapped back.

Elle collapsed against his arm, exhausted, and Grayson gently pulled her back against his chest. He paused only to murmur softly in her ear. She nodded weakly.

"Give her that other bottle," he commanded.

Dick eyed the water bottle suspiciously. "Will it make her throw up again?"

Cedric sighed. "More than likely."

"She's too weak! She can't take it," The younger man growled at him.

"She has to," Cedric told him. "Her insides were coated with that poison. If she doesn't rid her body of it, it will eat at the lining until she begins to hemorrhage."

Dick's mouth dropped open. "But she's already hemorrhaging! We need to get her to the hospital!"

"No, it is more likely that the doctors would make it worse," he said. "I've been through this before with her mother. I had hoped that Elle would be spared this, but it appears as though she's her mother's daughter, after all."

"Stop talking in riddles," Dick snarled. He was terrified he was losing her. He rocked her in his arms, as he waited for the man to finally open up and tell him what he needed to know.

* * *

><p>Cedric looked at the man who held his daughter's heart. She loved him, he didn't doubt. He had seen it in her eyes. He thought that perhaps this Grayson might love her in return. It had been the same way with him and her mother; his lovely Esmeralda. If he was right, and he thought he was, then Grayson needed to know.<p>

"Look at her hands," he told the younger man.

Grayson blinked at him. "What?"

"Do it," he said. "It will help you understand."

Dick looked at Elle. She had her eyes closed, and wasn't reacting to the conversation at all. He thought that maybe she had fallen asleep, or perhaps she had lost consciousness. His heart clenched in worry.

Gently, so as not to disturb her, he picked up her hand. He laid it across his much larger one.

"And . . ." he asked. "What now?"

"Really look," Cedric Hamilton told him.

Dick looked, turning her hand palm up and spreading her fingers. He didn't see . . . He startled. Wait! Yes, he _did_ see!

Between her fingers, rising up to her second knuckle was a thin fold of skin. It hadn't been there before, he knew. They had held hands many times. He had played with her fingers on occasion much as he was doing now, and those folds hadn't been there! But now . . . He watched as the water beaded up on her palm.

Elle's hands were _webbed_!

* * *

><p><strong>If you haven't figured it out by now, I think you might be getting the picture . . . Just wait! You haven't seen nothing yet!<strong>


	26. Tete a Tete

A couple of hours later, Elle was tucked up in her assigned room. She was feeling both better and miserable. Her blisters were gone now. She remembered Dick's freak out as she shed a layer of skin during the shower. She didn't blame him for it, however. She had been rather freaked out herself. There was still red, irritated skin beneath it; splotchy-looking wherever there had been a blister or welt, but those were fading. Hopefully, by tomorrow she would look more . . . normal.

But she wasn't, was she? . . . Normal, that is.

What she had always thought was just a birth defect, the webbed fingers and toes that happened whenever she got in water, was something more. Her mother and father had both known about it, but never told her. They had wanted to wait until she was older, her father had told her. Well, she was twenty-three! How long was she supposed to wait?

_What a horrible day_. She sat in the huge bed with her knees bent, her forehead resting on her knees, feeling sorry for herself.

Truthfully, she couldn't believe that she was still at the manor. Her father had one of the guards bring in another couple of cases of bottled water in case she needed it, and left about an hour ago without her. Dick had helped to tuck her in, but he had looked dazed and a little troubled by all he learned about her today. Elle wondered if he would drop her off tomorrow and disappear from her life. She wouldn't blame him if he did. _She_ wanted to disappear as well!

Elle sniffled, feeling alone and confused. She didn't want to face Bruce or Alfred or Tim, but she wanted to know how Damian was. Dick had said he was recovering nicely, but she wanted to see him. And how would she ever get him to give her that drawing he did of her yesterday if no one let her see him because she was . . . whatever she was?

There was a knock on the door, making Elle's heart leap in her chest. She didn't know why she was suddenly so scared, but she found herself trembling. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror again. This was so not happening.

"Go away," she told them.

When the door opened anyway, and Dick entered, Elle squeaked and ducked under her covers; throwing them over her head.

"I said go away," she groused; her voice still rough was muffled by the blankets.

"Are you all right," Dick asked. The bed dipped as he sat on the edge next to her.

"Y-yes. Now, could you please leave?" She rolled onto her side away from him. All she really wanted was to be held, and told that none of it mattered, but Elle didn't believe that was possible. Too much had changed.

Dick sighed deeply enough that she could hear him even through the blankets between them. His hand settled on her shoulder. She thought she could feel his body heat despite the many layers separating them.

"Elle," he tried again. "Are you all right."

"I said yes . . ." she told him, but her voice quivered along with her lip. "Oh, okay . . . No," she sighed this time. "No, I'm not all right."

"Why don't you come out from under the covers so we can talk about it," he asked her.

"I don't want to," she muttered, not caring if she sounded petulant.

"You don't want to talk about it, or you don't want to come out from under the covers?"

"_Both_!"

"Why not?"

She could hear the exasperation in his voice, but she couldn't do it.

"Because I'm uuuglyyy!" The tears began in earnest now.

Dick tried to pull the covers from her head. Elle clutched them like they were all that stood between her and the afterlife. Dick tugged harder, and Elle squealed. He started laughing, and she gasped in outrage.

Annoyed, she threw the covers back and sat up; glaring. "Why are you laughing at me? _Look_ at me!"

* * *

><p>Dick looked at her, and thought her pout was adorable even as her tears broke his heart. She was <em>alive<em> and no longer throwing up the lining of her stomach. He thought she was beautiful.

"Actually, you are looking pretty good compared to before," he admitted.

Her eyes grew larger as she thought about that; horror sliding over her features. She slapped her hands over her face.

"Hey!" Dick reached over to grab her wrists.

"Oh, Dick," she shuddered. "How can you stand me? I'm a freak! An ugly freak!"

He frowned at her words. "How can you say that?"

"It's that damned family legend," she groaned. "I thought it was just a story. All this time, and now I discover it is true!"

"How could you not believe it when every time you get wet you get webbed fingers and toes," he asked.

She hiccuped, and looked up at him miserably. "I don't know. I never really thought about it. It was a birth defect. My mother and grandmother had it, too. Nobody said anything about it. It was treated as normal by the family, and honestly, if we weren't swimming, it was a non-issue."

"I have never seen anyone swim like that outside of Aquaman," Dick said.

Elle blinked at him, her attention suddenly riveted. "You've seen Aquaman swim? Have you met him? What's he like?"

Dick froze. His mouth worked for a moment, but no words came out. "Uh . . . I . . . um, just saw him the one time. I didn't meet him or anything." He was so going to hell over this.

"Oh, well, that's still really cool," she said. "I can't believe I got to meet Batman this weekend . . . And Robin! Oh, and that other Robin-dude, guy, whatever his name is. That was amazing!" She caught him staring at her. "What?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't think you would be all that into vigilantes and superheroes," he smiled, chuckling at her enthusiasm. "It's kind of cute." Inside, Nightwing was yelling at him to change the subject. This was too dangerous, but he was fascinated and a little curious.

She smiled for the first time. "It just seems to me that if you have a special talent that can help people, you're almost obligated to use it. They aren't bad people, after all. They don't take away from others. They just help people, and at some risk to themselves. I think that's admirable, don't you?"

Dick stared at her. "Ah, yeah," he said. "I guess it is. I never really thought about it before."

She leaned over and smirked. "You know, I saw Nightwing once, too."

Dick's mouth dropped open. "Y-you did?"

"It was only a glimpse," she grinned. "I was stopping at an all-night convenience store for some milk . . . You know, milk is so expensive in those places. Anyway, there was a robbery in progress . . ."

Dick paled. 'You walked in on a robbery in progress?"

"Oh, well, they were kind of busy and didn't notice me right away, so I ducked back out of the store and called 911. Then, the two guys came running out. The clerk had picked up a shotgun and shot at them through the door! Glass went everywhere! And then the robbers started shooting back! It was all very exciting," At his look of horror, she decided to try to tone down her animation. "And . . . um, sort of scary? But then Nightwing swung in! He knocked one of the guys down, and then threw one of those boomerang thingies . . ."

"Birdarangs," he muttered offhandedly.

"Birdarangs? Really? How funny," she grinned. "Okay, well, he threw one of those thingies, the birdarang, and it knocked the gun out of the other guy's hand. I saw him do this spinning kick into the guy's head. And then the other man jumped to his feet and tried to shoot him!"

Dick had never heard one of his fights described by a witness before. Elle made it sound rather exciting. "Then what happened?"

An odd look crossed her face. "I'm not really sure."

Dick frowned. "What do you mean, you're not really sure? You were there, right?"

"Oh," She shrugged. "Yes, I was. It's just that one of the guy's bullets hit the wall where I was standing. A shard of brick kind of hit me in the eye."

Dick was stricken by the thought Elle had almost gotten shot before he ever met her. That _he_ had almost allowed her to be shot! He thought he remembered the incident she had been describing; he hadn't even realized that a woman had been present outside of the store. If she had been shot, would he have even known? He might have left her there accidentally to bleed out. He felt sick.

"What," he asked, weakly.

"I was all right," she reassured him, patting him on the knee. "But it hurt so I jumped back out of the way. My eye was watering so much I couldn't have seen anything after that anyway. By the time my eye felt better the fight was over. Nightwing shot this thing in the air . . ."

"A grapple hook," he muttered again, feeling a little dazed. He was discovering that he often felt that way when Elle was around.

"Yeah, a grapple hook, that's it," she smiled. "Wow, it's almost like you were there with me!"

That woke him up! What the _hell_ was he doing? He wasn't supposed to be a Nightwing expert. He needed to shut up and change the subject before she figured this thing out.

"Then he kind of just flew off," Elle finished. She stared off into the space somewhere over his left shoulder. "He was really sexy, though, you know?"

Dick blinked. What the hell was he supposed to say to _that_? He wasn't sure, but he thought he almost felt jealous of himself.

"No, I don't know," he grumbled, still unsure if he should be annoyed or flattered.

She laughed. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"What? Uh . . . No," he denied. "Should I be?"

Elle had forgotten in the course of their conversation that she had been upset. She leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Of course not, silly. I already have the sexiest man alive for a boyfriend. I think I would be the one jealous if you suddenly decided to run around Bludhaven or Gotham in skin-tight spandex that leaves nothing to a girl's imagination. Althooough, you _were_ damned sexy in that Batman costume the other night."

"Yes, I think you are definitely feeling better," Dick smirked. He was blushing, however. He hadn't blushed this much since he was in middle school.

He almost regretted his words when she jerked away from him and glanced back at the mirror. He cupped her face, turning her back toward him. "Don't do that," he ordered gently. "I didn't fall in love with just your face, you know."

* * *

><p>Startled, Elle gaped at him. <em>Did he mean that<em>? Does _he realize what he just said_? "You don't mean that . . ."

"Yes. I do," he tilted her chin up as he brought his mouth down to meet hers. "I love you, Arabella Hamilton," he whispered softly against her lips. "So, I would appreciate it greatly if you never scared me like that again."

The kiss began as sweet, but as usual quickly gave way to passion. And yet, all the while, the only thing part of them that touched was their mouths, and Dick's hands on her face. They lost track of time, and only pulled away when there came a knock on the door. This time it was Elle who was blushing when Alfred came in bearing a tray, with Bruce following on his heels.

"My, you are looking much better, Miss," Alfred commented as he laid the tray of food on her dresser. "I must say, you had us quite worried there for a time."

Bruce moved to stand behind where Dick still perched. He laid a hand on his son's shoulder and both smiled and frowned down at her simultaneously. Somehow he managed to convey both his concern and his delight at her recovery in that convoluted expression. Elle's lips twitched with amusement.

"Indeed, we were. _Are_ you feeling better, Elle," Bruce asked, his voice serious.

Embarrassed, she dipped her head down, her gaze on her lap. "I am," she admitted, honestly. "The pain is nearly gone."

"Pain," Dick asked, concerned. "You never told me you were still in pain! I mean, you look uncomfortable, but you haven't acted like you were hurting."

Elle peeked up at him, smirking. "Compared to earlier, this is nothing. Just a little residual burning sensation; similar to what I felt the first time something like this happened."

Dick looked put out. "You should have told me this could happen, Elle. We would have found something else to do this afternoon."

"Dick's right, Elle," Bruce agreed. His expression finally settled on serious. "You should have mentioned you had an allergy to chlorine. None of this would have been necessary."

Tears welled in her eyes at his gentle chastisement. "I am so sorry, Mr. Wayne! Once I realized the extent of it, I planned to tell Dick, but then the guards burst in, and then my father!" She sniffled. "But then Damian hit his head, and I-I knew that I was the only one who could get to him quickly enough . . . How is he? Dick said he was recovering, but . . ."

"Yes, I want to thank you for that," Bruce told her. "I realize that without your quick response, he would be recovering in the hospital, or . . . worse; beyond recovery."

"He's ensconced on the sofa in the game room, Miss, currently pursuing his goal of besting Master Richard's top score." Alfred spoke as he poured a spot of tea.

Elle glanced at Dick, a hint of her earlier smile already returning. "Top score? Which game is that?"

Bruce and Dick moved out of Alfred's way as he handed Elle the hot tea. "It does not matter, as Master Richard has long since held the top score in all of the games."

Bruce snorted in amusement. "Drives Damian crazy."

"Will the tea be a problem," Alfred asked, still holding the cup and saucer. "Do you need to continue only with water? I made this with the bottled water your father brought with him."

Elle smiled at him, taking the tea from his hands. "It should be fine. Thank you, Alfred. The burning sensation is only on the skin. My insides merely ache, and the tea should help with that. Don't worry. It will resolve itself with time."

Bruce's eyebrows pulled together. "This . . . allergy, Elle. I've never heard of anything like it. You and your father mentioned that your mother suffered from it as well."

The warmth of the honey-sweetened tea soothed the soreness in her throat. "Mm, yes, she did. Although I don't remember ever seeing her have a reaction before myself, my father told me about it. Hers, I take it, was on par with the reaction I had today. It had frightened Poppa enough that he developed special filters and had a well dug for the house. We have two pools like you do here, but ours is a salt-water filtration system that has no need of chemicals like chlorine. None of the taps in our house has chlorinated water, not even the shower or laundry."

"One of your father's guards said something about your apartment having a special filtered system," Bruce commented.

Elle sighed. "Poppa can be a bit overprotective," she murmured. "But that is correct. He actually added the filter system to the entire apartment building, as well as a smaller one to my apartment alone. Kind of redundant, that, but you can't tell that man anything once an idea gets in his head."

"That's probably good to know," Bruce smiled. "So the chlorine in the tap and shower here are a problem for you as well?"

"I'm not sure," Elle pursed her lips in thought. "Maybe a little, but I'm only here until tomorrow. It might have been why it took so long to stop my reaction, and explains my slow response time."

That comment incited three sets of raised eyebrows. Dick asked what was on all their minds. "This is a slow response time? I have been amazed at the speed of your recovery. I thought you would have required a prolonged hospital stay. This," he indicated her skin, "is incredible!"

Elle shrugged. "The only reason I stayed in the hospital at all the first time was because I was in public when I had the reaction to the chlorine, and someone had called an ambulance. And then the doctors insisted on doing all kinds of tests . . . Some of them Poppa allowed, but others he rejected outright."

"What kinds of tests did he refuse?" Dick asked first, although Bruce's mouth had opened to most likely ask the same thing.

"Certain blood tests, and he refused all genetic testing," she told them. "Although, after what he told us today, it makes a lot more sense why he refused to allow the doctors to pursue it."

Bruce frowned. "After he told you about what today? About the allergy? I was under the impression that you already knew about it."

Elle's eyes widened, and she glanced at Dick. "I . . . uh, I thought he told both of you."

Dick shook his head. "No, only me."

Elle was suddenly nervous. She slid her hands beneath the covers on her lap to hide them. Her hands appeared completely normal sitting in the bed, but she couldn't help feeling self-conscious.

Dick retrieved one of her hands, and held it between two of his own. "You can trust Bruce, Elle. He's fantastic at keeping secrets."

A strange expression crossed Bruce's face as he glanced at his son, but he said nothing.

Elle nodded, but remained silent. She used to joke about this, but now couldn't seem to admit to it once she discovered the truth of the matter.

Dick took pity on her, and spoke the words for her. He would have told Bruce later anyway.

"Elle is part mermaid." He grinned. That was fun to say out loud.

She was surprised when Bruce only nodded, taking the revelation in stride.

"That," he said, "makes perfect sense."


	27. The Favor

"Are you going out?"

It was obvious he was. Bruce was already dressed with the exception of the cowl which hung down his back. Dick hopped up to sit on the Bat computer console facing his adopted father. He swung his feet idly, much as he did when he was a child. Bruce pushed away from the computer to better face his son.

"I was planning to go to the Watchtower," he told him.

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Not on patrol?"

"The city seems pretty quiet this evening. There wasn't much on the police scanner. Why the interest?"

Dick shrugged. "I thought I might join you."

Bruce leaned back, and contemplated his eldest. "Is that a good idea? What if Elle needs you during the night? I noticed she is still wheezing, and her rash hasn't quite disappeared yet."

"I don't know. I wanted to talk to you, but if you're going out I won't see you until morning."

"What do you want to talk about?"

Dick gave him a look. "Do you seriously have to ask that?"

"This weekend has been full of revelations."

"Whew! I'll say . . ." Dick shook his head.

Bruce rested his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers. "Are you having second thoughts about your relationship?"

Dick looked surprised. "What? _No_! It's not that."

Bruce looked at him, keeping his expression neutral. "No one would blame you if you did."

Dick sat up straight at his words; his face and body rigid in anger. "What the _hell_, Bruce? I'm not going to leave her over something like this. In the long term, it's a hiccup. It means nothing!"

"The long term? Since when have you started thinking about the long term," Bruce asked, curious. "You just met this girl."

"I thought you _liked_ her! You're the one who invited her here," Dick snapped.

The edges of Bruce's mouth tilted up ever so slightly. "I do," he said.

Dick blinked. "Y-you what?"

"I like her," he told him. "This 'hiccup' did nothing to change that. I particularly liked the way she stood up to her father, and forced the man to respect you. And how could I _not_ like her after she literally risked her life to save your brother from drowning. From what I've observed, she is brave and honorable, and seems to be completely taken with you for whatever reason."

Dick relaxed. For once he and Bruce were of one mind on something.

"However, that being said, you have only known her for what; four weeks?" Bruce knew that Dick had already fallen hard for this woman, but he was curious to know if Dick was even aware of how deep his feelings ran.

Dick took a breath. He had only just told Elle that he loved her today. It was something he wasn't ready to share with his father yet, for obvious reasons. Bruce would consider it too soon; that Dick was wearing his heart on his sleeve, or some other emotional bullshit. But it wasn't . . . What he felt for her was more real than anything he had ever felt before, even with Babs! He didn't understand it either, but Elle returned the feeling, and he wasn't about to screw up a good thing for no other reason than he was falling for her faster than Bruce thought wise.

"I came here to talk to you about Elle, but not about whether my feelings for her are too much, too soon." Dick ran his hand across the back of his neck, and looked down at the floor. "Elle's family on her mother's side had this family legend. Elle told me about it early on. It became kind of a running joke between us; that she was Aquaman's cousin or niece or something like that."

Bruce frowned. "Do you think that is possible?"

"What? That she could be related to Aquaman?" Dick laughed a little at that; running a hand through his hair. "Up until today, I would have said no, but now . . . Ah, hell, Bruce, I don't know anything anymore."

Bruce didn't comment, but waited for his son to decide what he wanted to believe.

"Okay. That would be a no," Dick said finally. "I would have to say she is related to Aquaman only in that she's part Atlantian, but not in any other way than that. The legend is that her great-grandmother, a sole survivor of a sinking ship, was rescued by an apparent merman, who had sex with her in exchange for taking her to land. Her grandmother was the result of that brief . . . liaison."

"Nice guy," Bruce commented.

Dick snorted. "Yeah, I know; right? Well, although we laughed and joked about it, there were several things that struck me as odd over the past few weeks; things that she's said or did that, in light of what her father told me today, makes the idea the most reasonable explanation. But it bothers her, Bruce. She honestly had no idea, despite some damned compelling evidence, that she was anything but an average human being. "

Unable to sit any longer, Dick got up and began to pace. Bruce turned the chair to keep the younger man in view.

"I guess what I am trying to ask is this; do you think you might find the opportunity to ask Aquaman about this? Maybe, find out if he would be willing to answer some of her questions?"

Bruce stood up at that, and pulled on his cowl. He ignored the look of consternation on his son's face to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Why do you think I'm going to the Watchtower?"

Dick's jaw dropped open in surprise.

"I figured the two of you would have a lot of questions you would want answered. I knew this because I have just as many questions."

The younger man smiled, clutching the hand on his shoulder and placing his other on Batman's. "I can't believe you already thought of all of this. I suppose I should have known you would, though. Thank you, Bruce, from the both of us."

"It may take a while, you know. Arthur is a busy man, being king of Atlantis and all that entails. He doesn't make it to the Watchtower as often as the rest of us, and doesn't show up when he isn't scheduled at all except for world-shattering emergencies."

"I understand."

"We are going to have to do this carefully, you know," Batman warned. "I take it she is unaware of our night work."

"Of course," Dick answered.

He could just imagine Bruce's reaction to his telling Elle about his Nightwing identity. While Dick trusted her, there was no need for her to know at this time, if at all. That he loved her, he had no doubt, but he wasn't so foolish as to risk telling his girlfriend of four weeks that he was a masked vigilante. Telling her about his second identity would be risking more than just his life, but potentially the lives of his family. If they remained together, perhaps then he would tell her. She would need to know eventually, if that were the case.

"If Aquaman agrees, then we'll come up with a way to get the two of them together without risking our identities," Batman told him. "If I can contact him via communicator, I'll see what I can find out in the meantime."

Dick followed Batman to the Zeta Tube at the far side of the cave, and watched him punch in the coordinates he needed.

"I'll be back later," Batman told him. "Do you want me to wake you up?"

"If you find out something, yes; otherwise, I'll just see you in the morning," Dick told him.

"What time do you plan to leave?"

"I'm not scheduled to work until Tuesday morning, but I need to get back tomorrow. Nightwing needs to make an appearance. Four nights without him; the criminals are probably running rampant." Dick shrugged. "Sometime around noon, maybe."

"Good." Batman moved into the tube. "I'll see you later, then. Get some sleep while you can."

"Recognize: Batman. B-02," The computer voice announced.

Dick raised a hand as he watched Batman disappear in a blaze of light, feeling better for their talk.


End file.
